a frank unspoiled nature; true to her heart’s core, hating falsehood and sham — as crystal-clear a mirror of maidenhood as ever man looked into and saw himself reflected back in such a halo as made him ashamed of not being more worthy of it. Betty was kind enough to say that I had taught her everything she knew. But what had she not taught me? If there were a debt between us, it was on my side.
Sara was fairly well satisfied. It was not my fault that Betty was not better looking, she said. I had certainly done everything for her mind and character that could be done. Sara’s manner implied that these unimportant details did not count for much, balanced against the lack of a pink-and-white skin and dimpled elbows; but she was generous enough not to blame me.
“When Betty is twenty-five,” I said patiently — I had grown used to speaking patiently to Sara — “she will be a magnificent woman — far handsomer than you ever were, Sara, in your pinkest and whitest prime. Where are your eyes, my dear lady, that you can’t see the promise of loveliness in Betty?”
“Betty is seventeen, and she is as lanky and brown as ever she was,” sighed Sara. “When I was seventeen I was the belle of the county and had had five proposals. I don’t believe the thought of a lover has ever entered Betty’s head.”
“I hope not,” I said shortly. Somehow, I did not
