“Bless you, my boy! while you go on in this way, I have not much fear but that you’ll know how to manage.”
Norman’s rapid progress affected another of the household in an unexpected way.
“Margaret, my dear, I wish to speak to you,” said Miss Winter, reappearing when Margaret thought every one was gone out walking. She would have said, “I am very sorry for it”—so ominous was the commencement—and her expectations were fulfilled when Miss Winter had solemnly seated herself, and taken out her netting. “I wished to speak to you about dear Ethel,” said the governess; “you know how unwilling I always am to make any complaint, but I cannot be satisfied with her present way of going on.”
“Indeed,” said Margaret. “I am much grieved to hear this. I thought she had been taking great pains to improve.”
“So she was at one time. I would not by any means wish to deny it, and it is not of her learning that I speak, but of a hurried, careless way of doing everything, and an irritability at being interfered with.”
Margaret knew how Miss Winter often tried Ethel’s temper, and was inclined to take her sister’s part. “Ethel’s time is so fully occupied,” she said.
“That is the very thing that I was going to observe, my dear. Her time is too much occupied, and my conviction is, that it is hurtful to a girl of her age.”
This was a new idea to Margaret, who was silent, longing to prove Miss Winter wrong, and not have to see poor Ethel pained by having to relinquish any of her cherished pursuits.
“You see there is that Cocksmoor,” said Miss Winter. “You do not know how far off it is, my dear; much too great a distance for a young girl to be walking continually in all weathers.”
“That’s a question for papa,” thought Margaret.