“Some people think Emily quite pretty,” said Aunt Laura, but she did not say it until Emily was out of hearing. She was Murray enough for that.
“I don’t know where they see it,” said Aunt Ruth. “She’s vain and pert and says things to be thought smart. You heard her just now. But the thing I dislike most in her is that she is un-childlike—and deep as the sea. Yes, she is, Laura—deep as the sea. You’ll find it out to your cost one day if you disregard my warning. She’s capable of anything. Sly is no word for it. You and Elizabeth don’t keep a tight enough rein over her.”
“I’ve done my best,” said Elizabeth stiffly. She herself did think she had been much too lenient with Emily—Laura and Jimmy were two to one—but it nettled her to have Ruth say so.
Uncle Wallace also had an attack of worrying over Emily that winter.
He looked at her one day when he was at New Moon and remarked that she was getting to be a big girl.
“How old are you, Emily?” He asked her that every time he came to New Moon.
“Thirteen in May.”
“H’m. What are you going to do with her, Elizabeth?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Aunt Elizabeth coldly—or as coldly as is possible to speak when one is pouring melted tallow into candle-moulds.
“Why, she’ll soon be grown up. She can’t expect you to provide for her indefinitely”—