“I don’t know; I have forgotten. I was thinking about a great many things. For one thing, I was thinking how long the winter is here.”
“Why, it is hardly time to think about that yet,” said Miss Atherton, coming forward from the sofa where she had been sitting; “the winter is hardly begun yet. For my part, I like winter. But,” she added, pretending to whisper very secretly to Miss Gertrude, “I don’t mind telling you that I get a little stupid on Sunday myself.”
“Frances, pray don’t talk nonsense to the child,” said Mrs Seaton.
“It is not half so much of a sin to talk nonsense as it is to look glum, as Gertrude does. What ails you, child?”
Gertrude made no answer.
“Are you unwell, Gertrude?” asked Mrs Seaton.
“No, mother; I am perfectly well. What an idea!” she said, pettishly.
“She looks exactly like her Aunt Barbara,” said Miss Atherton. “I declare, I shouldn’t be surprised if she were to turn round and propose that I should read that extraordinary book I saw in her hand this morning! She looks capable of doing anything in the solemn line at this moment.”
Gertrude laughed, but made no answer.
“You do not take exercise enough,” said Mrs Seaton. “You have not been like yourself for a week.”