When Deborah left college she took a school in the country.
“Now, you are quite sure you know your own mind,” the principal observed, for he had not expected this application.
“Yes, quite sure,” and he was only too pleased to get it filled up.
A country school to the uninitiated may probably appear a haven of rest and peacefulness. But under certain circumstances, and in certain places, it may be the exact opposite of this. The one to which Deborah had gone was a most charming one, and on the outside it looked all that was successful.
“You have come here to learn, and you must bear it and put up with it,” said a voice, but at times the misery and meanness and littleness of the surroundings choked the voice altogether.
The feminine portion of the aristocracy in that place were of that section which believes implicitly in the art of snubs and condescension.
Such women are pretty numerous in the world—if they were not so the world would be a vastly different place.
At first the manifold bows and smiles and nods amused her, but at last they palled, as all things do in time.
“If they only knew how ridiculous and insincere it makes them look they would not do it,” she thought. “The only one among them for whom I have any respect or affection is the clergyman’s wife—and that is because she treats me sensibly as a working woman and does not try to overpower me with her excessively charming manner.”
This village was a very good school in which to learn, and it taught Deborah more than any town school would have.