“I dare say that is it, mamma.”
“Of course she is not like herself!” said Miss Atherton. “She is exactly like her Aunt Barbara. Gertrude, my dear, you’re not thinking of growing good, are you?”
“Don’t you think it might be of some advantage to the world if I were to improve a little?” asked Gertrude, laughing, but not pleasantly.
“Well, I don’t know. I am afraid it would put us all out sadly. Only fancy her ‘having a mission,’ and trying to reform me!”
“Pray, Frances, don’t talk that way,” said Mrs Seaton; but she could not help laughing at the look of consternation the young lady assumed.
“Ah, I know what is the matter with her!” exclaimed Miss Atherton, just as the gentlemen came in. “It is your fault, Mr Sherwood. You are making her as wise as you are yourself, and glum besides. It is quite time she were done with all those musty books. I think for the future we will consider her education finished.”
“What is the matter, young ladies? You are not quarrelling, I hope?” said Mr Seaton, seating himself beside them.
“Oh, no! It is with Mr Sherwood I am going to quarrel. He and his big books are giving Gertrude the blues. It must be stopped.”
“I am sorry Miss Gertrude is in such a melancholy state,” said Mr Sherwood, laughing; “but I am quite sure that neither I nor my big books have had anything to do with it. I have not had an opportunity to trouble her for a week, and I doubt whether she has troubled herself with any books of my selection for a longer time than that.”
“Oh, well, you need not tell tales out of school,” said Miss Atherton, hastily, noticing the look of vexation that passed over Gertrude’s face. “I am going to take the refractory young lady in hand. I think I can teach her.”