All she had to do at present was to listen to Miss Bracy, who was sure that Mrs. Rivers thought Mary and Blanche were not improved, and was afraid she was ungrateful for all the intended kindness to her sister.
Ethel had more sympathy here, for she had thought that Flora was giving herself airs, and she laughed and said her sister was pleased to be in a position to help her friends; and tried to turn it off, but ended by stumbling into allowing that prosperity was apt to make people over-lavish of offers of kindness.
“Dear Miss Ethel, you understand so perfectly. There is no one like you!” cried Miss Bracy, attempting to kiss her hand.
If Ethel had not spoken rightly of her sister, she was sufficiently punished.
What she did was to burst into a laugh, and exclaim, “Miss Bracy! Miss Bracy! I can’t have you sentimental. I am the worst person in the world for it.”
“I have offended. You cannot feel with me!”
“Yes, I can, when it is sense; but please don’t treat me like a heroine. I am sure there is quite enough in the world that is worrying, without picking shades of manner to pieces. It is the sure way to make an old crab of me, and so I am going off. Only, one parting piece of advice, Miss Bracy—read ‘Frank Fairlegh’, and put everybody out of your head.”
And, thinking she had been savage about her hand, Ethel turned back, and kissed the little governess’s forehead, wished her goodnight, and ran away.
She had learned that, to be rough and merry, was the best way of doing Miss Bracy good in the end; and so she often gave herself the present pain of knowing that she was being supposed careless and hard-hearted; but the violent affection for her proved that the feeling did not last.
Ethel was glad to sit by the fire at bed-time, and think over the day, outwardly so gay, inwardly so fretting and perplexing.