“It’s a wonder I never found out that was your nature before.”
“Oh, well, you are finding it out now. I only found it out lately myself. I never in all my life tried so hard to be good and patient and self-denying, and I was never so bad in all my life. There are times when I quite hate myself; and I am sure I shouldn’t wonder if you were to hate me too.”
She had been gazing moodily into the fire, but she turned as she said this, and met the wistful, almost tearful, eyes of Christie fixed upon her.
“I wish you could tell me something to do,” she added. “You know so much more about these things than I do.”
Christie shook her head with a sigh.
“Oh, no; I know very little; and even what I know I can’t speak about as other people can. You must have patience with yourself,”—“and pray,” she would have added; but Miss Gertrude cut her short.
“Oh, yes! it is easily said, ‘have patience.’ I would give a great deal to be naturally as gentle and patient and even-tempered as you are.”
“As I am!” said Christie, laughing; but she looked grave in a moment. “That shows how little you know of me, if indeed you are not mocking me in saying that.”
“No; you know very well I am not mocking you now, though I was a little while ago. I don’t think I have seen you angry since you came here—really angry, I mean.”
“Well, no, perhaps not angry. Do you really think I am gentle and even-tempered?” she asked, suddenly, turning her face towards her. “I am sure I used not to be. But then I have so little to try me now.”