“Oh, Nan, do ask her to be quiet! She never stops when she once begins. How can we listen to such rubbish, when we are so wretched? You may talk for hours, Phil, but I never, never will be a nurse!” And Dulce hid her face on Nan’s shoulder in such undisguised distress that her sisters had much ado to comfort her.
CHAPTER VIII.
“WE SHOULD HAVE TO CARRY PARCELS.”
It was hard work to tranquillize Dulce.
“I never, never will be a nurse!” she sobbed out at intervals.
“You little goose, who ever thought of such a thing? Why will you misunderstand me so?” sighed Phillis, almost in despair at her sister’s impracticability. “I am only trying to prove to you and Nan that we are not fit for governesses.”
“No, indeed; I fear you are right there,” replied poor Nan, who had never realized her deficiences before. They were all bright, taking girls, with plenty to say for themselves, lady-like, and well-bred. Who would have thought that, when weighed in the balance, they would have been found so wanting? “I always knew I was a very stupid person; but you are different,—you are so clever, Phil.”
“Nonsense, Nanny! It is a sort of cleverness for which there is 56 no market. I am fond of reading. I remember things, and do a great deal of thinking; but I am destitute of accomplishments: my knowledge of languages is purely superficial. We are equal to other girls,—just young ladies, and nothing more; but when it comes to earning our bread-and-butter––” Here Phillis paused, and threw out her hands with a little gesture of despair.