“And do you like working?”
“I do, indeed, Mr. Seraphin. Life would be worthless if one did not labor. Man's life on earth is so ordered as to show him that he must labor. Doing nothing is abominable, and idleness is the parent of many vices.”
Another cause of astonishment for the millionaire. She did not converse like an uneducated girl from the country. Her accurate, almost choice use of words indicated some culture, and her concise observations revealed both mind and reflection. He felt a strong desire to fathom the mystery—to cast a glance into Mechtild's past history.
“Have you always lived at home, or have you ever been away at school?”
She must have detected something ludicrous in the question, for suddenly a degree of archness might be observed in her amiable smile.
“You mean, whether I have received a city education? No, sir! Father used to speak highly of the clearness of my mind, and thought I might even be made a teacher. But he had not the means to give me the necessary amount of schooling. Until I was fourteen years old, I went to school to the nuns here in town. I used to come in of mornings and go back in the evening. I studied hard, and father and mother always had the satisfaction of seeing me rewarded with a prize at the examinations. I am very fond of books, and make good use of the convent library. On Sundays, after vespers, I wait till the door of the book-room is opened. I still spend my leisure time in reading, and on Sundays and holidays I know no greater pleasure than to read nice instructive books. At my work I think over what I have read, and I continue practising composition according to the directions of the good ladies of the convent.”
“And were you always head at school?”
“Yes,” she admitted, with a blush.
“You have profited immensely by your opportunities,” he said approvingly. “And the desire for learning has not yet left you?”
“This inordinate craving still continues to torment me,” she acknowledged frankly.