“What do you hate most?” asked Fred.
“Spiders and rice-pudding.”
“What do you like best?” asked Jo.
“Dancing and French gloves.”
“Well, I think Truth is a very silly play; let’s have a sensible game of Authors, to refresh our minds,” proposed Jo.
Ned, Frank, and the little girls joined in this, and, while it went on, the three elders sat apart, talking. Miss Kate took out her sketch again, and Margaret watched her, while Mr. Brooke lay on the grass, with a book, which he did not read.
“How beautifully you do it! I wish I could draw,” said Meg, with mingled admiration and regret in her voice.
“Why don’t you learn? I should think you had taste and talent for it,” replied Miss Kate graciously.
“I haven’t time.”
“Your mamma prefers other accomplishments, I fancy. So did mine; but I proved to her that I had talent, by taking a few lessons privately, and then she was quite willing I should go on. Can’t you do the same with your governess?”
“I have none.”
“I forgot; young ladies in America go to school more than with us. Very fine schools they are, too, papa says. You go to a private one, I suppose?”
“I don’t go at all; I am a governess myself.”