“But you’d like it, wouldn’t you?”
“Like it!” said Merry, her eyes distended a little. “Like to see the world and to know other girls? Well, yes, I should like it.”
“There’d be discipline, you know,” said Maggie. “It wouldn’t be all fun.”
“Of course not,” said Merry. “How could one expect education to be all fun?”
“And you would naturally like to be very well educated, wouldn’t you?” said Maggie.
“Certainly; but I suppose we are—that is, after a fashion.”
“Yes,” said Maggie, “after a fashion, doubtless; but you will go into society by-and-by, and you’ll find—well, that home education leaves out a great many points of knowledge which cannot possibly be attained except by mixing with other girls.”
“I suppose so,” said Merry, speaking with a slight degree of impatience; “but then Cicely and I can’t help it. We have to do what father and mother wish.”
“Yes, exactly, Merry; and it’s so awfully sweet and amiable of you! Now, may I describe to you a little bit of school-life?”
“If you like, Maggie. Molly and Isabel have often told me of what you did in Hanover.”