"I can study evenings. As to painting—why, aunty, it's nice to paint; but there isn't any picture in the world to be compared to a little live baby!"
"I haven't seen all the pictures in the world," said Mrs. Grey; "but I do not doubt that God makes objects of beauty that man can, at best, only imitate. Margaret, my child, do you know how relieved, how thankful I am, to find this true womanly instinct so strong in you? I have been afraid you might live in the mere gifts of genius you must know you possess, and crowd out the feminine element. But you are safe. A little child shall lead you."
"Why, aunty, I never knew I had any gifts," Margaret whispered.
"There will be plenty of worshippers to tell you so, sooner or later. But I want to impress it upon you, that the greater your gifts the greater your responsibility. Now several paths lie before you. You can devote yourself to art and win a name for yourself, I do not doubt. Or you can choose a literary life, and shine there. And if it were necessary for you to do something for your own support, either of those careers would be honorable. But there is a third vocation in a human sphere open to you. It is to be one of the truest, the best, the most unworldly, most unselfish of women."
"Like you, aunty," said Margaret, her eyes moistening. "I choose your vocation."
They sat silently together after this, until the rest of the family joined them; and after a time Laura asked:
"Where is Hatty? Seems to me it takes her an age to get her kittens to bed."
"Something is going wrong with Kitty," explained Belle. "I thought Mabel would never get to sleep, it distressed her so to hear Kitty cry."
"But why should Kitty cry?" asked Mrs. Grey, uneasily. "She appeared to be perfectly well when she went up to bed."
"It's something about saying her prayers," said Belle, reluctantly. "Poor Hatty means right, but I think she makes mistakes."