Isabelle had long, wild gallops over the hills on her horse, during which she pondered “the long, long thoughts of youth” and brought the resulting problems to Mrs. Benjamin in the weekly letters, or in some of their intimate talks.
“It is hard to believe that this is the freakish sullen child who came to us less than a year ago,” Mrs. Benjamin commented as the girls went off to bed one night.
“No, it is wonderful. Thou hast made a new being of her.”
“Thou hast done it as much as I have. It is evidently her first experience of being understood and loved.”
“What strange excrescences do grow up on our so-called civilization,” he said.
“Is thee calling the rich an excrescence?” she smiled.
“I know that they are just human beings like ourselves, but how do they get things so awry? They put such a slight upon parenthood, with their servant-made children.”
She nodded, and he went on developing his thought.
“It is ominous when the basic relationships are so abused—marriage held so lightly, children disdaining their own parents, as our Isabelle does. Where is it leading us, Phœbe?”