“My dear Caroline, this is an unexpected pleasure,” said I; “but how came you here?”
“I will tell you some day,” replied Caroline, not wishing to talk about her family while the teacher, who came in with her, was present.
“I hope Madame Bathurst is well?” inquired I.
“Quite well, when I saw her last,” said Caroline.
“Well, my dear, we must work, and not talk, for my time is valuable,” said I; “so sit down, and let me hear whether you have improved since I last gave you a lesson.”
The teacher then left the room, and Caroline, having run over a few bars, stopped, and said, “I never can play till I have talked to you, Valerie. You asked me how I came here. At my own request; or, if a girl may use such language, because I insisted upon it. I was so uncomfortable at home, that I could bear it no longer. I must speak against my father and mother—I cannot help it; for it is impossible to be blind; they are so strange, so conceited, so spoiled by prosperity, so haughty and imperious, and so rude and uncouth to any whom they consider beneath them, that it is painful to be in their company. Servants will not remain a month in the house—there is nothing but exchange, and everything is uncomfortable. After having lived with my aunt Bathurst, who you will acknowledge to be a lady in every respect, I really thought that I was in a Hôpital de Fous. Such assumption, such pretension, such absurdities, to all which they wished to make me a party. I have had a wilderness of governesses, but not one would or could submit to the humiliations which they were loaded with. At last, by rebelling in every way, I gained my point, and have escaped to school. I feel that I ought not to speak disparagingly of my parents, but still I must speak the truth to you, although I would say nothing to others; so do not be angry with me, Valerie.”
“I am more sorry that it is so, than that you should tell me of it, Caroline; but from what I saw during my short visit, I can fully give credit to all you have said.”
“But is it not a hard case, Valerie, when you cannot respect your parents?” replied Caroline, putting her handkerchief to her eyes.
“It is, my dear; but still on the whole, it is perhaps for the best. You were taken from your parents, and were well brought up; you return to them, and find them many degrees below you in the scale of refinement, and therefore you cannot respect them. Now, if you had never left them, you would, of course, have remained down at their level, and would have respected them, having imbibed the same opinions, and perceiving nothing wrong in their conduct. Now which of the two would you prefer, if you had the power to choose?”
“Most certainly to be as I am,” replied Caroline, “but I cannot but grieve that my parents should not have been like my aunt Bathurst.”