Nor had life, as Selina came up through it, the private school of her baby days, the public schooling of later days, the friends of her youth, nor Mother, nor Auntie, nor those gilt-topped volumes, nor dancing school, nor Sunday-school, nor her tinkling music lessons, nor traditions, nor precedent, nor standards, nor prides, nor preoccupations, nor day dreams, prepared Selina for this step. And so her throat was dry and her hands were cold as she forced herself to say it.
"I am going to offer to teach him myself."
And then it was that the unexpected happened. The fight on the part of Mamma and Auntie had been a long one and a gruelling one, as long almost as Selina's life, and they by nature were clinging creatures. With the very note of her young utterance, as at the Gideon shout of the newer generation, their walls fell.
This mother of Selina, behold, all at once a little, tearful, dependent, child-like person. "Oh, Selina, daughter, do you think you could? The terror of having people come to the door with bills one can't pay!"
This handsome, solid, impressive auntie, a bewildered, rudderless, drifting soul. "I might be able to do little things at home to save you here, Selina. There is the canary's cage. Let me take care of that."
Thus the walls fell about Selina and revealed to her the inward weakness of that stronghold of dominance and authority she, up to now, had deemed well-nigh impregnable.
One instinct with the two, however, held true to its function.
"We will not mention the matter to your father, Selina," from her mother, "unless it seems best. He very likely would worry."
"Robert would worry," from Auntie, decidedly. "It might seem as if it were in criticism of him if we went to him about it beforehand."
No protests! No objections! They were relieved! They were willing! Selina stood up, her voice to her ears coming from vast distances away.