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o impart English. I conclude that at your age you at least know your mother tongue thoroughly." "But that's just it, I do not," said Florence. "I know French fairly well for a girl of my age, and I have a smattering of German, and am fairly fond of music. I don't care for English History nor English Literature, and I have not studied either of them; and my grammar is very weak, and my spelling--well, Aunt Susan, I can't spell properly. I am sorry, but I inherit bad spelling from my mother." "Oh, Florence!" cried the poor little widow. "I do, Mummy; you know perfectly well that you have never yet spelt 'arrange' right, nor 'agreeable.' You always leave out one of the 'e's' in the middle of agreeable. Oh, I have had such a fight with those two words, and I do inherit my bad spelling from you. Well, Aunt Susan, what more do you wish me to say?" "I cannot admire your manners, Florence, and as to your appearance, it leaves very much to be desired." Mrs. Aylmer looked very calmly all over Florence. Florence suddenly sprang to her feet, her temper was getting the better of her. She inherited her temper, not from her mother, for the little Mummy had the easiest-going temper in the world, but from her father. John Aylmer when he was alive had been known to plead his own cause with effect on more than one occasion, and now some of his spirit animated his young daughter. She rose to her feet and spoke hastily. "I am not good-looking," she said, "and I know it; I cannot help my features, God gave them to me and I must be content with them. My nose is snub and my mouth is wide, but I have got some good points, and if I were your daughter, Aunt Susan--and I am heartily glad I'm not your daughter; I would much, much rather be Mummy's daughter, poor as she is--but if I were your daughter you would dress me in such a fashion that my good points would come out, for I have good points; a nice complexion, fine hair and plenty of it, and fairly good eyes, and my figure would not look clumsy if I wore proper stays and properly-made dresses; and my feet would not be like clodhoppers, if I had fine well-made boots and silk stockings; and my hands----" "You need not proceed, Florence," said Mrs. Aylmer, rising abruptly. "Mabel, I pity you; I should like to wash my hands of your daughter, but I cannot forget my promise to my poor dead husband, who begged me on his deathbed not to allow either of you to starve. 'For the s
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