She could not help herself. She knew that it was every right-minded woman’s duty under these circumstances to be very, very severe.
Pietje moved a little uneasily, but did not rise. So, without delay, Ursula began her lecture. It was very conscientious and rather long, and all quite true and exceedingly severe. After the opening sentences Pietje’s head bent low, and about mid-way she began to cry. She had not cried much during the scenes with her father, and tears now seemed to come to her as a pleasurable relief. Entering into the spirit of the thing, she cried so very loud that Ursula’s lecture had to come to an abrupt conclusion, tailless, like a Manx cat. In how far Pietje calculated on this result none but she may presume to decide.
“So, of course, you must go to a reformatory,” said Ursula, firmly. “I am willing to help you on condition that you take my advice.”
“Don’t want to go to no performatory,” sobbed Pietje, with vague perplexities concerning circuses and ballet girls. “Father’ll keep me if I says I’m sorry.”
A grunt from the other end of the room.
“Pietje, you have behaved very badly,” continued Ursula. “It seems to me that you hardly understand the wickedness of your act. You only regret its unpleasant results. No, Pietje, you are”—she felt it her positive, painful duty to speak plainly—“a very wicked, guilty, evil-hearted girl.”
“Dear me, Mevrouw,” growled a voice half-choked against a sleeve, “can’t you leave the poor creature in peace?”
“No, Klomp,” replied Ursula, “’tis my duty to help you both. I understand and appreciate your righteous anger, but, fortunately, I can provide Pietje with a home. It is only natural you should not wish her to remain near Mietje.”
At this very moment Mietje came down-stairs.
“Father, here’s your li—yes, sister’s going to stay with me,” she said.