saved you this. I might have offered myself in your stead, and set
you free for pleasanter work." But she shook her head, and struggled
for composure.

"You would not have done for Mrs. Thorne, Esther. Don't think me
vain if I say that I play and sing far better than you."

"A thousand times better," I interposed. "And then you can draw."

"Well, Mrs. Thorne is a woman who values accomplishments. You are
clever at some things; you speak French fairly, and then you are a
good Latin scholar" (for Allan and I studied that together); "you can
lay a solid foundation, as Uncle Geoffrey says; but Mrs. Thorne does
not care about that," continued Carrie a little bitterly; "she wants
a flimsy superstructure of accomplishments--music, and French, and
drawing, as much as I can teach a useful life-work, Esther."

"Well, why not?" I returned, with a little spirit, for here was one
of Carrie's old arguments. "If it be the work given us to do, it must
be a useful life-work. It might be our duty to make artificial
flowers for our livelihood--hundreds of poor creatures do that--and
you would not scold them for waste of time, I suppose?"

"Anyhow, it is not work enough for me," replied Carrie firmly, and
passing over my clever argument with a dignified silence; "it is the
drudgery of mere ornamentation that I hate. I will do my best for
those dreadful children, Esther. Are they not pitiful little
overdressed creatures? And I will try and please their mother though
I have not a thought in common with her. And when I have finished my
ornamental brick-making--told my tales of the bricks----" here she