It was not till the very last evening, when Genevieve had actually wished her good-bye and left the house, that she grew desperate. She hastily put on bonnet and cloak, and pursued Genevieve up the street, overtaking her at last, and causing her to look round close to her own door.
‘My dear Miss Sophy,’ cried Genevieve, ‘what is the matter? You are quite overcome.’
‘This book—’ said Sophy—it was all she could say.
‘Love—yes,’ said Genevieve. ‘Admiration—no.’
‘You shall not say that,’ cried Sophy. ‘I have found what is really dignified and disinterested, and you must let me admire you, Jenny, it makes me comfortable.’
Genevieve smiled. ‘I would not commit an egoism,’ she said; but if the sense of admiration do you good, I wish it had a worthier cause.’
‘There’s no one to admire but you,’ said Sophy. ‘I think it very unfair to send you away, and though it is nobody’s fault, I hate good sense and the way of the world!’
‘Oh! do not talk so. I am only overwhelmed with wonder at the goodness I have experienced. If it had happened with any other family, oh! how differently I should have been judged! Oh! when I think of Mrs. Kendal, I am ready to weep with gratitude!’
‘Yes, mamma is mamma, and not like any one else, but even she is obliged to be rational, and do the injustice, whatever she feels,’ said Sophy.
‘Oh! not injustice—kindness! I shall be able to earn more for grandmamma!’