"Well! that is delightful," exclaimed Julia; "I would have laughed before, if I had thought it would bring matters to a conclusion."
Amy wished to say something, but she felt painfully shy, for she had begun to dread Julia's satire; and, happily for her, Emily Morton spoke instead.
"I should be very sorry," she said, "to believe you in earnest, you would hardly acknowledge so openly that you took pleasure in hurting the feelings of another."
"Only she took pleasure in hurting my ears," replied Julia.
"Not intentionally," said Miss Morton; "but I am sure you cannot really mean what you say; you must be sorry for having given pain."
"Miss Cunningham is so very silly," persisted Julia, who was never willing to confess herself in the wrong; "it really is impossible to help laughing at her. You know there can be no harm in being amused at people's folly."
"I cannot agree with you at all," said Emily; "and as to Miss Cunningham's sense, it is not her own choice to be less clever than others."
"To be sure not," exclaimed Julia, pertly; "who would be stupid if they could help it? But it does not make people at all the less absurd, because it is not their own fault."
"There again I must differ from you," replied Emily. "It makes all the difference possible. Self-conceit, and vanity, and pride may be ridiculous, but not mere deficiency of understanding; it is the appointment of God, just as much as poverty or illness may be; and I think, from something I heard you say yesterday, you would not be at all inclined to laugh at any one who had less money than yourself."
"Oh no! certainly not," said Julia; "but cleverness is quite a different thing. I do so like bright, clever people; and I do so delight in laughing at stupid ones. All the world thinks more of cleverness than of anything else."