“When were you born, Miss Agnace? Have you brothers and sisters? Tell me about the days when you were young, as Eppie used to do. Has anything wonderful ever happened to you?”
Miss Agnace looked at her in smiling surprise.
“I have nothing to tell. Nothing wonderful ever happened to me.”
“But still tell me about your childhood.”
Miss Agnace told her a good many things, but certainly nothing wonderful. She was one of a large family. She had been sent to a convent school at the age of nine, and remained a pupil till she was nearly seventeen. There had been no incidents in her school life. Everything went on quietly, and happily that was all. Yes, she had favourite companions. One died, and one married, and the best loved one of all was lost on a steamer on one of the great lakes. She could tell no more than that.
“And since you left school?” asked Frederica.
“Nothing has happened to me since then. I have had a busy life, and have been content with it,” said Miss Agnace, rising to leave the room. She was away a good while; but when she came back, carrying Frederica’s tea on a tray, the young girl said, as though there had been no pause,—
“Well, and what have you been busy about and content with since then?”
Miss Agnace did not answer immediately. It was evident that she did not wish to continue the conversation, only she did not know how to help it. She was not a clever person, and she could not “make up” an answer in a moment. So she said,—“I have been nursing sick people much of the time—sometimes in one place and sometimes in another. Yes, I have been a good deal in St. P.’s Hospital.”
“Oh!” said Frederica eagerly, “you are one of the sisters?”