Graeme dissented earnestly by look and gesture, but she had no words.
“It’s true though, my dear. You can hardly say that you are at the head of your father’s house, while I manage all things, as I do.”
But Graeme had no desire to have it otherwise.
“You can manage far best,” said she.
“That’s no to be denied,” said Mrs Nasmyth, gravely; “but it ought not to be so. Miss Graeme, you are no’ to think that I am taking upon myself to reprove you. But do you think that your present life is the best to fit you for the duties and responsibilities that, sooner or later, come to the most of folk in the world? It’s a pleasant life, I ken, with your books and your music, and your fine seam, and the teaching o’ the bairns; but it canna last; and, my dear, is it making you ready for what may follow? It wouldna be so easy for you if I were away, but it might be far better for you in the end!”
There was nothing Graeme could answer to this, so she leaned her head upon her hand, and looked out on the brown leaves lying beneath the elms.
“And if I should go,” continued Janet, “and there’s many an if between me and going—but if I should go, I’ll be near at hand in time of need—”
“I know I am very useless,” broke in Graeme. “I don’t care for these things as I ought—I have left you with too many cares, and I don’t wonder that you want to go away.”
“Whist, lassie. I never yet had too much to do for your mother’s bairns; and if you have done little it’s because you havena needed. And if I could aye stand between you and the burdens of life, you needna fear trouble. But I canna. Miss Graeme, my dear, you were a living child in your mother’s arms before she was far past your age, and your brother was before you. Think of the cares she had, and how she met them.”
Graeme’s head fell lower, as she repeated her tearful confession of uselessness, and for a time there was silence.