"Well, I have not seen any like you," said Kitty, gazing from head to foot at her very peculiar visitor.
"No more you have, bless you; and I'm not the least offended by your very frank stare. Sam admires me, and that's enough for me. Now, Elma looks a lady, doesn't she?"
"I suppose so," said Kitty in a dubious tone.
"You suppose so indeed! Let me tell you that Elma is a born little lady, a real lady, and she looks it, every inch of her. That is why she goes to Middleton School; but now, who do you think pay for her?"
"How can I tell?"
"Do you think mother, or father, or I? Now, who do you think does? I should be interested to know your thoughts."
"I cannot really tell you, Miss Lewis."
"Oh, it does sound fine to hear you Miss Lewising me. My name is
Carrie."
"I prefer to call you Miss Lewis."
"Highty! tighty! we are haughty. Well, the person who pays for Elma is our Aunt Charlotte—a certain Mrs. Steward, wife of the Reverend John Steward, rector of St. Bartholomew's, Buckinghamshire. There's a grand enough name for you; and I suppose, being a clergyman, you'll consider that he is a gentleman and that his wife is a lady. Aunt Charlotte happens to be own sister to mother; and when Elma made her little complaint to her she took pity on her; and now she pays all her expenses at Middleton School. And if Elma does well and nothing disagreeable comes to Aunt Charlotte's ears, she will send her presently to Newnham or Girton. Think of that I Elma will be a college girl; she will be an undergraduate of one of the universities—and some day a graduate; and then she will get a first-class post as high-school mistress, or mistress of something or other. But if you tell on her and make things bad, and the truth gets out—You look pale; are you ill?"