"You know that your mother and your uncle wouldn't have made such an
effort to send you here if they didn't think it would be for your good,"
I said. "Do try and like it."
There was a new tone in my voice. I really felt sorry for her. She
raised her head and fixed her dark eyes on my face.
"Do you think your father would like it?"
"I am sure he would, Augusta," I said; and an idea flashed through my
brain. I would write that very day to my step-mother and beg her to get
my father to send Augusta a message. The slightest word from him would
control her life; she would work hard at her French, her German, hard at
manners, refinement--at everything--if only he would give her the clue.
Surely my step-mother would manage it.