“Did you hear what those people said?”
Michael had not heard, so Stella whispered:
“They said ‘What good-looking children!’ Shall we turn back and walk by them again?”
“Whatever for?” Michael demanded.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Stella, flapping the big violet bows in her chestnut hair. “Only I like to hear people talking about me. I think it’s interesting. I always try to hear what they say when I’m playing.”
“Mother,” Michael appealed, “don’t you think Stella ought not to be so horribly conceited? I do.”
“Darling Stella,” said Mrs. Fane, “I’m afraid people spoil her. It isn’t her fault.”
“It must be her fault,” argued Michael.
Michael remembered Miss Carthew’s admonition not to snub Stella, but he could not help feeling that Miss Carthew herself would have disapproved of this open vanity. He wished that Miss Carthew were not now Mrs. Ross and far away in Edinburgh. He felt almost a responsibility with regard to Stella, a highly moral sensation of knowing better the world and its pitfalls than she could. He feared for the effect of its lure upon Stella and her vanity, and was very anxious his sister should always comport herself with credit to her only brother. In his mother’s attitude Michael seemed to discern a dangerous inclination not to trouble about Stella’s habit of thought. He resolved, when he and Stella were alone together, to address his young sister seriously. Stella’s nonchalance alarmed him more and more deeply as he began to look back at his own life and to survey his wasted years. Michael felt he must convince Stella that earnestness was her only chance.
“You’re growing very fast, Michael,” said his mother one morning. “Really I think you’re getting too big for Etons.”