“Well, I just did. I couldn’t help myself. It is hateful to be under-educated, and you know we shall never be like other girls if we don’t see something of the world.”
“He didn’t by any chance agree with you?” said Cicely.
“Not a bit of it,” said Merry. “We must bear with our present life, only perhaps we oughtn’t to see too much of Maggie Howland.”
“Well,” said Cicely, “I’ve something to tell you, Merry.”
“What’s that?”
“You don’t know just at present why mother and I went to Warwick this morning?”
“No,” said Merry, who was rather uninterested. “I had a very good time with Maggie, and didn’t miss you too dreadfully.”
“Well, you will be interested to know why we did go, all the same,” said Cicely. “It’s because Miss Beverley is knocked up and can’t teach us any more, and Mr. Bennett is going to London. Mother can’t hear of anyone to take Miss Beverley’s place, or of any music-teacher equal to Mr. Bennett; so, somehow or other, I feel that there are changes in the air. Oh Merry, Merry! suppose––”
“There’s no use in it,” said Merry. “Father will never change. We’ll get some other dreadfully dull daily governess, and some other fearfully depressing music-master, and we’ll never be like Molly and Belle and Maggie and our cousin Aneta. It does seem hard.”
“We must try not to be discontented,” said Cicely.