“These curls have something to do with it, and this short dress. That can be remedied, however.”
In a moment she had obtained a dressing-gown of her mother’s, and, drawing the silken cord tightly round her waist, she walked up and down, looking over her shoulder to see herself in the glass. The whole thing was done in a manner so childish, and so amusing, that her mother laughed merrily; and her little brother who had come in with Tessie, clapped their hands. Frederica laughed too.
“I am afraid it is not the dress, mama; I am only a child.”
“My darling! a happy child is a very good thing to be. I hope it will be a long time before you are anything but a happy child. The longer the better,” added she, with a sigh.
“That is what Cousin Cyprien said, mama,” said Frederica, gravely.
“Yes; it was Mr St. Cyr that put all that nonsense in her head about being a woman and grown up,” said Tessie, severely; “and she told him she had a deal of sense, though she was so little. For my part, I am very well content to be a child.”
“But you have a child, you know, dear; only thirteen, or is it twelve, mama? A precocious child certainly, but still a child,” said Frederica, with an air.
“Mama, look at her. She must be forty, at least,” exclaimed Tessie. “She must be considerably older than Mrs Ascot—ever so much older than Lina.”
“What is it all about?” asked Selina, gently.
“Never mind. Don’t ask her, Lina. She is so dreadfully wise and clever that she is quite too much for me sometimes. I should not wonder if Mrs Glencairn would wish to engage her to supply Miss Robina’s place when she is married.”