“What do you mean?”
“I mean their education. Not their religious beliefs—that’s far too extraordinary a matter for me to engage with. I’m talking about delicacy.”
“You think they’re being brought up without delicacy? Their uncle is a gentleman, a wonderfully sensitive and courteous man. I can testify to that.”
Miss Prim felt a slight discomfort in her stomach that made her wonder if the cakes were as fresh as they might be.
“I don’t doubt that he possesses those qualities, but you’ve said it: he’s a man. He’s immersing those girls in Ancient Greek and Latin, medieval literature and Renaissance poetry, Baroque painting and sculpture.”
“It’s funny you should say that, because he detests the Baroque. I myself find it wonderful,” said Herminia Treaumont, taking a piece of fruit from the bowl.
Miss Prim searched for the right words. Had she been one of those people who said little but thought much, she’d have found them, but she wasn’t. And as she wasn’t, the best option was probably to be direct.
“There’s no sign ofLittle Womenin the house.”
“Little Women?”
“Little Women.”
“But that’s impossible. I can’t believe it.”
Prudencia smiled with relief. For a moment she’d feared that Herminia Treaumont was one of those uncouth souls who didn’t appreciate that a well-used copy ofLittle Womenwas essential to an education.
“You must be mistaken, Prudencia. There must be a separate library for the girls. I can’t believe you haven’t realized that. As far as I know, Eksi’s already read Jane Austen.”
“That’s true, but Jane Austen is Jane Austen. Even he couldn’t ignore her, she’s too important. Though I have to say, the only time I’ve heard him mention her it was to criticize Mr. Darcy.”
Herminia offered another cup of hot chocolate to Miss Prim and poured one for herself.
“All the men I know are critical of Mr. Darcy. They find him annoying and arrogant.”
“Why?” asked Miss Prim, intrigued.
“I suppose it’s because they realize they seem rather lackluster by comparison.”
Miss Prim said nothing, remembering the conversation in the kitchen.
“We’ll have to have a word with him about it,” said her hostess.
“In my humble opinion,Little Womenis hugely important,” she insisted. “I’ve always believed that a girl’s childhood is like a wasteland without that book.”
“I agree.”
They both fell silent. One of the newspaper’s contributors knocked at the door. Herminia dispensed some brief, precise instructions before closing the door and sitting down again with her guest.
“Let me tell you something, Prudencia. Those girls are receiving an exceptional education, academically quite unique. In fairness, I ought to make that clear.”
Miss Prim drew her chair closer to the table and spoke firmly.
“No education is complete without visiting that little corner of Concord. I’m sure its literary merit doesn’t stand up next to many other books but, as we both know, this is not what it’s about. It’s about beauty, delicacy, security. When they grow up and life treats them badly—as it certainly will—they’ll always be able to look back and take refuge for a few hours in that familiar sentimental story.
“They’ll get back from work, stressed by the traffic, aching with tension and problems and there, in their minds, they’ll be able to open a door into the parlor of Orchard House with its rather cloying, puritanical transcendentalism, its piano, cheerful fire, and blessed Christmas tree.”
“I always wanted to be like Jo,” murmured Herminia nostalgically.
“Best I don’t tell you who I wanted to be.”
“Why not?”
