"Provided you are not conceited with it," said Aunt Sophia in her abrupt way.
"Perhaps I should be," said Pauline. "I was always thought rather smart. I like people to call me smart. You don't want me to turn stupid because I may get conceited."
"No, dear; I want you to be natural. I want you to try very hard to be learned, to be good, to be a lady. I want you to be the sort of woman your mother would have wished you to be had she lived. I want you to grow up strong in mind and strong in body. I want you to be unselfish. I want you to look upon life as a great gift which you must not abuse, which you must make use of. I want you, Paulie, and your sisters to be the best in every sense of that great word. You will fail. We all fail at times; but there is forgiveness for each failure if you go to the right and only source. Have I said enough?"
Her conscience was pricking her. She lowered her eyes; the long black lashes trembled with tears. Miss Tredgold stooped and kissed her.
"I hear Briar in the garden," she said. "I will send her up to you. Be as merry as you please with her, and forget my words for the present."
Pauline got up in time for late dinner. She was, of course, excused wearing her dinner-blouse, and was still treated somewhat as an invalid. But on Sunday morning she was so much better that she was able to wear her white dress, and able also to join her sisters in the garden.
They all went to the pretty little church in the next village, and Miss Tredgold accompanied them.
Looking back on it afterwards, that Sunday always seemed to Pauline like an exquisite dream of peace. Her lie did not press at all against her heart. The discomfort of it was for the time in abeyance. She tried to forget Miss Tredgold's ideal girl; she was happy without knowing why. She was happy, but at the same time she was quite well aware of the fact that her happiness would come to an end on Sunday night. She was quite certain that on Monday morning her grave and terrible troubles would begin. She would have to see Nancy. She would have to decide with regard to the midnight picnic. There was no joy for Pauline in the thought of that picnic now, but she dared not stay away from it, for if she did Nancy would have her way. Nancy's temper, quick and hot as a temper could be, would blaze up. She would come to Miss Tredgold and tell her everything. If it had been awful to Pauline's imagination to think of Miss Tredgold knowing the truth before, what would it be to her now after the lie she had told?