The two elder were sent to school early, and the youngest, now five years old, was to accompany them after Midsummer. This was the opportunity for which Mr. Armstrong waited. He at once put a stop to the domestic duties, and took his daughter into his counting-house for two hours daily to act as his clerk; her love of arithmetic he knew would make this a pleasure to her.
But now worldly opinion interfered. One or two business men connected with the Corn Exchange, started with surprise at the appearance of a young girl writing at the desk when introduced to Mr. Armstrong's counting-house, and when alone with him spoke plainly on the subject.
Not all the domestic work, nor it must be confessed, the occasional coarseness of her father when angry, could counteract the influence of her mother on Mary's manner and appearance.
She was growing daily more like her, and the gentle graceful girl was in every respect a lady, and far superior in manners and appearance to the daughters of tradesmen in her father's position. Indeed, she knew nothing of any society but that of her mother's relations. The words which at last startled Mr. Armstrong were really needed to show him his error.
"Who is that young lady writing at the desk in your counting-house, Armstrong?"
"My daughter," he replied, proudly. "I wish her to acquire business habits, and this is the only plan I can adopt for the purpose."
"Then the sooner you discontinue it the better; nothing can be more unwise. Do your clerks have access to your counting-house?"
Mr. Armstrong was not without a certain degree of pride in his wife's connexions, and he flushed high as he replied—"Mrs. Armstrong's daughter is not likely to notice one of her father's clerks."
His friend shrugged his shoulders as he said,—"Well, Armstrong, you know best; but if I had such a beautiful girl for my daughter, I would not degrade her by placing her in a position on a level with those whom I considered her inferiors."
Half offended as he was, Mr. Armstrong yet took the hint. He returned to his counting-house and furtively examined the beautiful profile as Mary, con amore, leaned over her task. Her auburn hair hung in massive curls to her waist, and though braided on her forehead and thrown behind her ears, the curls drooped over the lower part of her face even to the paper on which she wrote.