"When you are convicted of a fault, acknowledge it openly and frankly, repent of it heartily, and then put it out of your mind entirely."
Marion did none of these things. She would not confess frankly even to herself that she had done wrong in disobeying her mother.
"I suppose I ought to have done as she told me, but then she need not treat me as a child." And this "but then" spoiled the admission. Neither was her repentance hearty; and so far from putting it out of her mind, she kept turning it over and over and imagining a scene in which she was the aggrieved party and her mother and brothers were obliged to make acknowledgments to her.
Stanley Andrews came, and proved to be a pleasant fresh, unaffected girl, ready to please and be pleased, throwing herself into the family life at Hemlock Valley as if she belonged to it, and making it the brighter and pleasanter for her presence. Bessy clung to her like a burr.
Bessy and Marion had not got on well together. She had somewhat resented and a good deal laughed at Marion's attempt to exact the respect due to her age and position.
"You are nobody but a school-girl like myself, and I am sure you don't know so much more than I do," said the uncompromising young woman. "Of course I'll call you 'aunty' if you want me to, but I think it is ridiculous, when we are so nearly of an age. Bram and Frank are six months older than you, so I suppose I ought to call them 'uncles.' I say, 'Uncle Bram'!"
"Uncle!" said Bram. "How long since, Betsy?"
"Well, Marion says she is 'Aunt Marion,' so I suppose what is sauce for the 'aunt' is sauce for the 'uncle,' isn't it?" asked Bessy, demurely.
"There is no danger of any want of sauce where you are," said Bram. "Never mind, Marion; we all know Betsy."
But Marion did mind very much—so much that she carried the matter to her mother.