“The room my sister and I had would be the nicest,” said mamma, quite entering into my plans. Dear mamma is not very sensible about money—she won’t mind my saying so, for she says it herself. She leaves everything to papa, and a good deal now, I am proud to say, to me. “You remember it, Connie? Mrs Nesbitt called it her best room. It looks out to the side with a sort of square bow-window, though that sounds very Irish!” she added, laughing.
Papa glanced at her with such pleasure. He is always so delighted when mamma laughs.
“I do hope it will go through with the Whytes,” I heard him say to himself in a low voice.
“I am so glad they are not rich,” I said, with such satisfaction that papa and mamma really looked rather startled.
“Dear child—” mamma began.
I had scarcely known I was speaking aloud. I felt myself grow a little red.
“I mean,” I began confusedly—“If they had been rich, you know, we couldn’t have done anything for them, and—and—they might have been spoilt, and very likely they would have looked down on us.”
“Even though they have such a common name,” said papa, mischievously. “Eh, Connie? Try and keep your mind clear of all those prejudices, my dear. Take people as they really are, and be as good and kind to them in deed and thought, rich or poor, grand or lowly, as you can be, and you will find it will be all right. The real way to get on happily is to think as little of yourself as possible: then you will neither despise those below you, nor expect to be despised by those above you.”
I don’t know that I quite understood papa then; I think I understand it better now. But that night my dreams were very pleasant; they were not about myself at all, nor even about the unknown Whytes. They were all about a lovely room with roses growing up the walls, and as they grew higher and higher the walls seemed to melt away and I found myself in a beautiful garden. But just as I was rushing forward in delight I caught sight of old Lady Honor sitting in an arbour, knitting.
“Connie Percy,” she said solemnly, in her rather peculiar voice; “remember, the true way to gather roses is first to plant them.”