"She likes to be with Theo," said Chatty; "and she is always such a one for the air."
"Likes!" said her sister. "Is this a time to think of what one likes, with poor dear papa in his coffin?"
"She never left him as long as he wanted her," said the apologetic sister.
"No, indeed, I should hope not; that would have been criminal. Poor dear mamma would never do anything really bad; but she does not mind if she does a thing that is unusual. It is very unusual to go out before the funeral; it is a thing that is never done, especially by the ladies of the house."
"Shall we be able to go out on Friday, Minnie?" Friday was the funeral day.
"It would be very bad taste, I think. Of course, if it does not prove too much for us, we ought to go to church to meet the procession. Often it is thought to be too much for the ladies of a family."
"I am sure it would not be too much for me. Oh, I shall go as far as we can go with him—to the grave, Minnie."
"You had better wait till you see whether it will not be too much for you," said the elder sister, while Chatty dried her eyes. Minnie's eyes had no need of drying. She had cried at the right time, but it was little more than levity to be always crying. It was nearly as bad as enjoying anything. She did not like extravagance of any kind.
And then they turned to their reading again, and felt that, whatever mamma might think herself at liberty to do, they, at least, were paying that respect to their father's memory which young women in a well-regulated household should always be the first to pay.