f Pixie as a young lady
"with an air!" She laid her hand on Mademoiselle's arm, with one of her
pretty caressing gestures.
"You are a dear, kind Therese, and it all sounds too charming, but I am
afraid it cannot be done. We shall be very poor, dear father's pension
will die with him, and if we cannot afford school, we could not pay you
properly for all your trouble. You are a darling for thinking of it,
but--"
She stopped short in dismay, for Mademoiselle had straightened her back
until it was as stiff as a poker, and was glaring at her with the air of
an offended Fury.
"Did you ask me for money when I came here? Did you expect me to pay
when you asked me to your house? Am I a pauper, then, that you insult
me with such an idea? It is the first time, I must say, that I have
invited a guest, and been offered a payment."
"Oh! oh! oh! What will I do? Don't glare at me like that, Therese, or
I'll expire with fright! I never offered you a payment, my dear; I said
I couldn't pay. I don't know what I said, but I never meant to make you
angry! If you don't forgive me this instant, I'll cry, and if I once
start crying, I shall go on till to-morrow, and so I warn you!
_Please_, Therese!"
She held out her hand appealingly, but Mademoiselle still tilted her
head, and kept up an air of offence.
"My feelings are 'urt," she said with dignity, "and they can only be
appeased if you withdraw your remarks, and promise that Pixie shall
come. You can pay for the lessons she takes, and the Paris
Conservatoire will not ruin you, my dear, I can tell you that; but for
the rest, do you suppose Pixie will do nothing for me in return for her
board? It is not too lively, a house with an invalid and an old maid,
and they may perhaps be glad to have a young thing about; to be made to
laugh sometimes and have some interest in life beyond rheumatism and
asthma! Do not disturb yourself; if you are too proud to accept help
from me, be assured that I shall make the child useful. She shall work
for her living!"
"You are pretending to be cross, to make me say `Yes,' but you needn't
keep it up any longer, dear. I'll say it with thankfulness this minute,
if it is indeed a pleasure to you too. I don't feel at all too proud to
accept a favour from you, and besides, it seems as if Providence meant
it to be so, and just the most wonderful and beautiful reason for your
coming here, which seemed at first so extraordinary. If you wil
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