“Do you know her, Grace?” asked Fanny.
“I have called once or twice, and have been very much pleased with the sick sister; but Rachel does not fancy that set, you see. I meet the other at the Sunday school, I like her looks and manner very much, and she is always at the early service before her work.”
“Just like a little mauve book!” muttered Rachel.
Fanny absolutely stared. “You go, don’t you, Rachel? How we used to wish for it!”
“You have wished and we have tried,” said Rachel, with a sigh.
“Yes, Rachel,” said Grace; “but with all drawbacks, all disappointments in ourselves, it is a great blessing. We would not be without it.”
“I could not be satisfied in relinquishing it voluntarily,” said Rachel, “but I am necessarily one of the idle. Were I one of the occupied, laborare est orare would satisfy me, and that poor governess ought to feel the same. Think of the physical reaction of body on mind, and tell me if you could have the barbarity of depriving that poor jaded thing of an hour’s sleep, giving her an additional walk, fasting, in all weathers, and preparing her to be savage with the children.”
“Perhaps it refreshes her, and hinders her from being cross.”
“Maybe she thinks so; but if she have either sense or ear, nothing would so predispose her to be cross as the squeaking of Mr. Touchett’s penny-whistle choir.”
“Poor Mr. Touchett,” sighed Mrs. Curtis; “I wish he would not make such ambitious attempts.”