"I don't know, mamma," said Julia, hiding her head. "I think it is because I sleep so badly. I rise in the morning hot and quivering, and more tired then I lay down."
Mrs. Dodd inquired how long this had been.
Julia did not answer this question; she went on, with her face still hidden: "Mamma, I do feel so depressed and hysterical, or else in violent spirits: but not nice and cheerful as you are, and I used to be; and I go from one thing to another, and can settle to nothing--even in church I attend by fits and starts: I forgot to water my very flowers last night: and I heard Mrs. Maxley out of my window tell Sarah I am losing my colour. Am I? But what does it matter? I am losing my sense; for I catch myself for ever looking in the glass, and that is a sure sign of a fool, you know. And I cannot pass the shops: I stand and look in, and long for the very dearest silks, and for diamonds in my hair." A deep sigh followed the confession of these multiform imperfections; and the culprit half raised her head to watch their effect.
As for Mrs. Dodd, she opened her eyes wide with surprise; but at the end of the heterogeneous catalogue she smiled, and said, "I cannot believe _that._ If ever there was a young lady free from personal vanity, it is my Julia. Why, your thoughts run by nature away from yourself; you were born for others."
Her daughter kissed her gratefully, and smiled: but after a pause, said, sorrowfully, "Ah! that was the old Julia, as seen with your dear eyes. I have almost forgotten _her._ The new one is what I tell you, dear mamma, and that" (within sudden fervour) "is a dreamy, wandering, vain, egotistical, hysterical, abominable girl."
"Let me kiss this monster that I have brought into the world," said Mrs. Dodd. "And now let me think." She rested her eyes calm and penetrating upon her daughter; and at this mere look, but a very searching one, the colour mounted and mounted in Julia's cheek strangely.
"After all," said Mrs. Dodd thoughtfully, "yours is a critical age. Perhaps my child is turning to a woman; my rosebud to a rose. And she sighed. Mothers will sigh at things none other ever sighed at.
"To a weed, I fear," replied Julia. "What will you say when I own I felt no real joy at Edward's return this time? And yesterday I cried, 'Do get away, and don't pester me!'"
Original article by {website name}. If reprinted, please indicate the source: http://bseyt.7299299.com/news/392b699269.html
