A Daughter of To-Day | Page 3

to be lenient with her on that account."
"I have nothing to do with the mathematical branches, Mrs, Bell. I teach only English to the senior classes. But I haven't heard Mr. Jackson complain of Elfrida at all." Feeling that she could no longer keep her errand at arm's length, Miss Kimpsey desperately closed with it. "I've come--I hope you won't mind--Mrs. Bell, Elfrida has been quoting Rousseau in her compositions, and I thought you'd like to know."
"In the original?" asked Mrs. Bell, with interest. "I didn't think her French was advanced enough for that."
"No, from a translation," Miss Kimpsey replied. "Her sentence ran: 'As the gifted Jean Jacques Rousseau told the world in his "Confessions"'--I forget the rest. That was the part that struck me most. She had evidently been reading the works of Rousseau."
"Very likely. Elfrida has her own subscription at the library," Mrs. Bell said speculatively. "It shows a taste in reading beyond her years, doesn't it, Miss Kimpsey? The child is only fifteen."
"Well, I've never read Rousseau," the little teacher stated definitely. "Isn't he--atheistical, Mrs. Bell, and improper every way?"
Mrs. Bell raised her eyebrows and pushed out her lips at the severity of this ignorant condemnation. "He was a genius, Miss Kimpsey--rather I should say he is, for genius cannot die. He is much thought of in France. People there make a little shrine of the house he occupied with Madame Warens, you know."
"Oh!" returned Miss Kimpsey, "French people."
"Yes. The French are peculiarly happy in the way they sanctify genius," said Mrs. Bell vaguely, with a feeling that she was wasting a really valuable idea.
"Well, you'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Bell. I'd always heard you entertained about as liberal views as there were going on any subject, but I didn't expect they embraced Rousseau." Miss Kimpsey spoke quite meekly. "I know we live in an age of progress, but I guess I'm not as progressive as some."
"Many will stay behind," interrupted Mrs. Bell impartially, "but many more will advance."
"And I thought maybe Elfrida had been reading that author without your knowledge or approval, and that perhaps you'd like to know."
"I neither approve nor disapprove," said Mrs. Bell, poising her elbow on the table, her chin upon her hand, and her judgment, as it were, upon her chin. "I think her mind ought to develop along the lines that nature intended; I think nature is wiser than I am"--there was an effect of condescending explanation here--"and I don't feel justified in interfering. I may be wrong--"
"Oh no!" said Miss Kimpsey.
"But Elfrida's reading has always been very general. She has a remarkable mind, if you will excuse my saying so; it devours everything. I can't tell you when she learned to read, Miss Kimpsey--it seemed to come to her. She has often reminded me of what you see in the biographies of distinguished people about their youth. There are really a great many points of similarity sometimes. I shouldn't be surprised if Elfrida did anything. I wish I had had her opportunities!"
"She's growing very good-looking," remarked Miss Kimpsey.
"It's an interesting face," Mrs. Bell returned. "Here is her last photograph. It's full of soul, I think. She posed herself," Mrs. Bell added unconsciously.
It was a cabinet photograph of a girl whose eyes looked definitely out of it, dark, large, well shaded, full of a desire to be beautiful at once expressed and fulfilled. The nose was a trifle heavily blocked, but the mouth had sensitiveness and charm. There was a heaviness in the chin, too, but the free springing curve of the neck contradicted that, and the symmetry of the face defied analysis. It was turned a little to one side, wistfully; the pose and the expression suited each other perfectly.
"Full of soul!" responded Miss Kimpsey. "She takes awfully well, doesn't she! It reminds me--it reminds me of pictures I've seen of Rachel, the actress, really it does."
"I'm afraid Elfrida has no talent that way." Mrs. Bell's accent was quite one of regret.
"She seems completely wrapped up in her painting just now," said Miss Kimpsey, with her eyes still on the photograph.
"Yes; I often wonder what her career will be, and sometimes it comes home to me that it must be art. The child can't help it--she gets it straight from me. But there were no art classes in my day." Mrs. Bell's tone implied a large measure of what the world had lost in consequence. "Mr. Bell doesn't agree with me about Elfrida's being predestined for art," she went on, smiling; "his whole idea is that she'll marry like other people."
"Well, if she goes on improving in looks at the rate she has, you'll find it difficult to prevent, I should think, Mrs. Bell." Miss Kimpsey began to wonder at her own temerity in staying so long. "Should