Mrs. S. (dismisses the subject, and asks suddenly). Now just how old is your daughter Emma?
Dominie. She is just sixteen years and seven weeks old.
Mrs. S. Does she speak French?
Dominie. Oui, elle parle Français, and in musical tones, too,—a language which is understood all over the world.
Mrs. S. But she is so silent! Does she like to play?
Dominie. You have given her no opportunity to speak, she is certainly not forth-putting. For the last two years she has taken great pleasure in playing.
Mrs. S. You acknowledge, then, that formerly you had to force her to it?
Dominie. In the earlier years of her natural development, as she was a stranger to vanity and other unworthy motives, she certainly played, or rather pursued her serious studies, chiefly from obedience and habit. Does your daughter of thirteen years old always practise her exercises without being required to do so? Does she like to go to school every day? Does she always sew and knit without being reminded of it?
Mrs. S. (interrupting). Oh, I see you are quite in love with your daughters! But they say you are terribly strict and cruel in the musical education of your children; and, in fact, always.
Dominie. Do you suppose I do this from affection? or do you infer it, because they have proved artists, or because they look so blooming and healthy, or because they write such fine letters, or because they have not grown crooked over embroidery, or because they are so innocent, unaffected, and modest? or—