"They were written upon my mother's breast," continued Dorothy, "and I learned them when I took in my life with her milk. I pray they may be written upon my breast some day, if God in His goodness shall ever bless me with a baby girl. A man child could not read the words."
"Dorothy, Dorothy!" cried Lady Crawford, "you shock me. You pain me."
"Again I ask," responded Dorothy, "for what else was I created? I tell you, Aunt Dorothy, the world decrees that women shall remain in ignorance, or in pretended ignorance—in silence at least—regarding the things concerning which they have the greatest need to be wise and talkative."
"At your age, Dorothy, I did not have half your wisdom on the subject," answered Lady Crawford.
"Tell me, my sweet Aunt Dorothy, were you really in a state of ignorance such as you would have me believe?"
"Well," responded the old lady, hesitatingly, "I did not speak of such matters."
"Why, aunt, did you not?" asked Dorothy. "Were you ashamed of what God had done? Were you ashamed of His great purpose in creating you a woman, and in creating your mother and your mother's mother before you?"
"No, no, child; no, no. But I cannot argue with you. Perhaps you are right," said Aunt Dorothy.
"Then tell me, dear aunt, that I am not immodest and bold when I speak concerning that of which my heart is full to overflowing. God put it there, aunt, not I. Surely I am not immodest by reason of His act."
"No, no, my sweet child," returned Aunt Dorothy, beginning to weep softly. "No, no, you are not immodest. You are worth a thousand weak fools such as I was at your age."