"Never will, you mean," replied Miss Morton. "We often say can, when we ought to say will."
"Well! can or will," exclaimed Julia; "it is all the same. Only if I may beg Miss Cunningham's pardon now, I don't care; but if I must not do that, she must take her chance; and if she makes herself ridiculous, I must laugh at her."
"Because you think yourself cleverer," said Miss Morton; "is not that the reason?"
Julia blushed deeply. She was not accustomed to have her self-conceit brought before her so plainly, and yet she was too candid not to see the truth of what was said.
"I do not mean to pain you," continued Miss Morton, very kindly. "Perhaps it is not my place to interfere; but you promised not to be annoyed; and you must forgive me if I remind you, that in the sight of God the most trifling act of self-denial from a really high motive—I mean, of course, from a wish to please Him—is infinitely more valuable than the cleverest thing that has ever been said or done since the world was made."
Still Julia was silent—her cleverness did not at that moment come to her aid; and after gazing attentively upon the fire, playing with the ornaments on the mantelpiece, and turning over the leaves of one or two books, she found herself so very uncomfortable, that, hastily exclaiming she must go and look for her sister, she left Amy and Miss Morton alone.
"Are you vexed?" asked Amy, as soon as the door was closed. "You look so."
"I am rather," said Miss Morton, "for I am half afraid I have done more harm than good; and I am hurt especially about Miss Cunningham, because I know it was very disagreeable to her to have any lesson at all, and such a one as this will make her dislike it more than ever."
"But not you," observed Amy; "she cannot blame you for another person's rudeness."
"Only it is difficult," said Miss Morton, "to feel kindly towards those who have been the cause of placing us in awkward situations; and I do not suspect I have ever been a favourite with Miss Cunningham."