"Don't you think, sir, I'd better take up that course of history I was reading. I had only just commenced."
"Yes, child, with the abstract I recommended. This will fix the principal facts in your memory; and give you power of condensing in style."
So the daily lessons, of which Paul had not even a suspicion, commenced again, Gertrude at first finding it a wearisome task to abstract her mind from reveries of the one loved and gone before; and to fix it upon her page; but at last, out of gratitude to the kind friends, who had taken such an interest in her progress, she accomplished her self-imposed task and gradually her interest in her studies returned.
Before spring opened she had read a large number of the best histories of different nations, and was well advanced in the rudiments of French. She was timid about pronunciation and often longed to ask her husband to help her, knowing he was a thorough French scholar. For some time she had been wondering whether it would not be best to confide her plans for self-culture to him; and one day when she had been puzzled over a French irregular verb, she determined to do so.
She was particularly unfortunate in the time chosen for this. Paul had lost a case and was very irritable.
"You had better adhere to your worsted work," he said sharply.
"But I'm trying to make myself a better companion for you."
"Oh, well!" he answered, with a contemptuous laugh; "you may study as much as you please, only don't bother me with it."
He regretted that he had spoken so sharply, when he saw how disappointed she looked, and added more pleasantly:
"You're a dear little soul; but I don't think learning is your forte. If you ever accomplish a letter decently, it will be all that is necessary. Don't you think so?" patting her cheek.