"I did not think, sir," said Gertrude, humbly, and yet with dignity, "of counting up the favours I had received, and measuring my conduct accordingly. In that case my obligations to you are immense, and you would certainly have the greatest claim upon my services."
"Services! I don't want your services, child. Mrs. Ellis can do quite as well as you can for Emily, or me either; but I like your company, and think it is very ungrateful in you to leave us, as you talk of doing."
"Father," said Emily, "I thought the object in giving Gertrude a good education was to make her independent of all the world, and not simply dependent upon us."
"Emily," said Mr. Graham, "I tell you it is a matter of feeling—you don't seem to look upon the thing in the light I do; but you are both against me, and I won't talk any more about it."
So saying, Mr. Graham went to his study, and was seen no more that night.
Poor Gertrude! Mr. Graham, who had been so generous, who had seldom or ever spoken harshly to her, and had always treated her with great indulgence, was now deeply offended. He had called her ungrateful; he felt that she had abused his kindness, and believed that he and Emily stood in her imagination secondary to other far less warm-hearted friends. Deeply wounded, she hastened to say good-night to the no less afflicted Emily, and, seeking her own room, gave way to feelings that caused her a sleepless night.
CHAPTER XXI.
SELFISHNESS.
Left at three years of age dependent upon the charity of a world in which she was friendless and alone, Gertrude had, during her residence at Nan Grant's, found little of that charity. But, although her turbulent spirit rebelled at the treatment she received, she was then too young to reason upon the subject, or come to any conclusions upon the hardness and cruelty of humanity; and, had she done so, such impressions would have been effaced in the home of her kind foster-father.