“Well, we went on in this way a while. I daresay a good deal of it was my fault. I think I was patient and forbearing, and I am quite sure I gave Fanny her own place from the very first. But I was not cheerful, partly because of the changes, and all these little things, and partly for other reasons. And I am not demonstrative in my friendliness, like Rosie, you know. Fanny soon came to be quite frank and nice with Rosie, and, by and by, with me too. And now, everything goes on just as it ought with us. There is no coldness between us, and you must not think there is, or that it is because of Fanny I must go away.”
She paused, and began to arrange the lamp.
“Never mind the light, dear, unless your work canna be left,” said Mrs Snow; and in a little Graeme came and sat down again.
“And about Fanny’s not being good enough for Arthur,” she went on. “If people really love one another, other things don’t seem to make so much difference. Arthur is contented. And Janet, I don’t think I am altogether selfish in my wish to go away. It is not entirely for my own sake. I think it would be better, for them both to be left to each other for a little while. If Fanny has faults, it is better that Arthur should know them for the sake of both—that he may learn to have patience with them, and that she may learn to correct them. It is partly for them, as well as for Rose and me. For myself, I must have a change.”
“You didna use to weary for changes. What is the reason now? You may tell me, dear, surely. There can be no reason that I may not know?”
Janet spoke softly, and laid her hand lovingly on that of Graeme.
“Oh! I don’t know: I cannot tell you,” she cried, with a sudden movement away from her friend. “The very spirit of unrest seems to have gotten possession of me. I am tired doing nothing, I suppose. I want real earnest work to do, and have it I will.” She rose hastily, but sat down again.
“And so you think you would like to keep a school?” said Mrs Snow, quietly.
“Oh! I don’t know. I only said that, because I did not know what else I could do. It would be work.”
“Ay. School-keeping is said to be hard work, and thankless, often. And I daresay it is no better than it is called. But, my dear, if it is the work you want, and not the wages, surely among the thousands of this great town, you might find something to do, some work for the Lord, and for his people. Have you never thought about working in that way, dear?”