As for Mabel's health, an incessant round of parties, picnics, pleasure excursions, making calls and entertaining company, was never supposed to overtax her nervous system. It was only when she was compelled to step outside the world of fashion that her parents' anxieties were awakened. They never connected the days of languor, headache, and lassitude with late hours and excitement. The "claims of society" never overtax body or mind!
"But, father," said Mabel, "I think this is one of the duties I owe to society—to help those boys into right ways, if I can, so that they may be its ornaments when they get to be men."
"That's just what I object to!" interposed Mrs. Wynn. "Those boys! If you had chosen a class of sweet little girls, it wouldn't be quite so bad. But those rough, uncouth boys! Why, they'll hang about you, step on your dress, use your fan, handle your parasol, speak to you in the street, and annoy you in a dozen different ways."
Mabel smiled at her mother's list of the unpleasant features of the case. It would be such a terrible thing to have Herbert Bradford or Lewie Amesbury lift his cap gracefully, as either of them knew how to do, and accompany the act with a smiling, "Good morning, Miss Wynn!"
Then, too, she remembered that young Mr. Cranson had stepped upon her dress at the picnic, and tore off a yard or two of ruffling, and Dr. Myers had played with her fan, as one or more broken splints would testify, and her mother had not seemed to look upon either as unpardonable offences. But young Mr. Cranson was the son of a millionaire, and Dr. Myers was—ah! Well, he was Dr. Myers! Perhaps he will speak for himself.
Mrs. Wynn continued, not noticing Mabel's amused look—
"Besides, you won't be able to manage them. I've heard Mr. Clarke say it was the worst class in school. They have had I don't know how many teachers within the last six months. The last was Professor Mills. I shouldn't think you would undertake where he had failed."
It was true, that class of bright-eyed, eager-faced boys had the reputation of being the most unmanageable set in the school, and Mabel know it. She answered—
"Mother, I did not choose—" She hesitated. Should she speak of the entire consecration she had made of her young life to the cause of Christ? Would they understand her if she told them that she believed God had called her to that very class? It was only a moment: then she went on—
"If I give myself to the Sabbath-school work, or any other work for the Master, it is not for me to choose the place. If I am called to this post, I shall, in some way, be made equal to it."