“My dear, you are fifteen.”
“Well?” responded Caroline.
“And you must not feel hurt if I tell you that I should think no other young lady of that age and in your position is half so deficient as you are. Deficient in many ways, Caroline: in goodness, in thoughtfulness, and in other desirable qualities; and greatly so in education. Annabel, who is a year younger than you, is twice as advanced.”
“Annabel says you worry her into learning.”
“Annabel is fond of talking nonsense; but she is a good, loving child at heart. You would be surprised at the little trouble she really gives me while she makes a show of giving me a great deal. I have so much to teach you, Caroline—to your mind and heart, as well as to your intellect—that I feel the hours as at present arranged, will be insufficient for me. My dear, when you grow up to womanhood, I am sure you will wish to be loving and loved.”
Caroline burst into tears. “I should do better if mamma were not so cross with me, Miss Channing. I always do anything that William Yorke asks me; and I will do anything for you.”
Constance kissed her. “Then will you begin by rising early, and being ready for me at seven?”
“Yes, I will,” answered Caroline. “But Martha must be sure to call me. Are you going to the meeting this afternoon?”
“Of course not,” said Constance. “My time now belongs to you.”
“But I think mamma wishes you to go with us. She said something about it.”