“Not many young women of your age have your easy life,” her mother continued; “you have no thought where your next meal will come from, or where you will live in your old age, or where—”
“I know where all my good things come from,” interrupted Tessa, reverently; “the how, the when, and the what that I do not know—that I am waiting to know.”
“That is like you! Not a thought, not a care; it will come dreadful hard to you if you ever do have trouble.”
Tessa’s tears ever left in her heart a place for sweet laughter; so light, so soft, so submissive, and withal so happy was the low laugh of her reply that her father’s eyes filled at the sound. Somebody understood her.
Mrs. Wadsworth looked annoyed. Her elder daughter’s words baffled her. Tessa was shallow and she sighed and asked her if she would take apple pie.
Tessa ate her pie understanding how she was a trial to her mother, but not understanding how she could hinder it. Could she change herself? or could her mother change herself?
“I wish that it were easier for me to love people,” she said coming out of a reverie, “then I would not need to trouble myself about not understanding them.”
“I thought that you were a student of human nature,” said her father.
“I always knew that she couldn’t see through people,” exclaimed her mother.
“I do not; I never know when I am deceived.”