Elizabeth with some degree of impatience stood at the drawing-room window, looking for their first pupil, on the morning the school was opened. At length a carriage drove hastily to the door, and she returned to her seat.

With a flushed and agitated countenance she had now to welcome one of her mother’s earliest friends. Colonel Vincent advanced into the room with two daughters, and in a cheerful tone exclaimed, “I hope, my dear Miss Adair, we are your first scholars; we have strained every nerve to surprise you with an early visit, and an auspicious one I hope it will prove.”

“I hope so too, Sir,” said Elizabeth quickly; “but I thought we should have had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Vincent.”

“She was obliged to go down into the country to visit her father,” returned the Colonel, “and deputed me to act for her. I have to beg that you will treat our children as the children of strangers: reward them with favour when they are good, and punish them when they are otherwise. We have confidence in our friends, therefore shall never listen to any idle tales; but my little girl,” he continued, as he fondly stroked the hair from the forehead of his youngest daughter, “will I know be tractable and very good.”

“That I will, Papa; only I wish I had my doll, and the cradle. My cousin Eliza has a barrel-organ, a garden-chair, and I don’t know how many things, at her school.”

“Your cousin has a large fortune, and is a simpleton,” cried Caroline, the eldest daughter. “But pray, ma’am, who is to teach music?”

“I shall make the attempt,” said Elizabeth; “how far I shall succeed will depend upon my abilities to instruct, and your patience and perseverance in gaining instruction.”

“O, ma’am, I have learned seven years of the first masters.”“There has been a wonderful waste of time, and money!” cried the Colonel. “You rattle the keys, as blundering soldiers when commanded to fire: no taste, feeling, or judgment in the execution.”

“But at Madame La Blond’s, Papa, I was allowed to play in the very first style, and was always called upon to exhibit to strangers.”

A servant at this moment announced “Mrs. Towers;” and a stately female, dressed in the extreme of fashion, with a measured step entered the room, followed by a delicate, interesting looking young lady, but with a very dark complexion. Mrs. Towers moved very profoundly to Elizabeth. “Permit me to introduce Miss Arden as a pupil,” she said. “She is from the East, and under our guardianship. For certain causes we removed her from her last seminary; we did not consider it (as she is a young lady of large fortune) sufficiently fashionable. As we understand Colonel Vincent, a man whom every one must applaud, has declared that he and his noble lady will patronize Mrs. Adair, from this circumstance alone I have brought Miss Arden hither.”

Colonel Vincent smiled, and stepped to the window to converse with his youngest daughter. “It is particularly unfortunate, ma’am,” added Mrs. Towers, “that the young lady has so very dark a look; but I assure you she is not a creole.” Tears started into Miss Arden’s eyes, and her cheeks were tinged with a deep blush. Mrs. Towers now made another very low curtsey, with “a good morning, ma’am; I have several visits to pay in this neighbourhood.” As she passed the young lady, she whispered something respecting mixture and composition.

Colonel Vincent now led his daughters to Miss Arden. “Let me introduce the young people to each other,” said he; “who I hope will be friends and pleasant companions.”

Isabella, his youngest daughter, looked up in her face; and taking her hand, said, “I am sure I shall love this lady, if she will love me.”

Her sister turned her head, and with a scornful smile exclaimed, “You are always taken with strangers! I wish Miss Russel would come! I thought she would have been here early.”

“This is an insolent young lady,” said the Colonel, looking at his daughter with displeasure. “But my Isabella, Miss Arden, will be grateful for your kindness.”“I have so few, Sir, to regard me,” said Miss Arden, “that I shall indeed be happy to gain the love of this little girl.”

Elizabeth now asked if she would walk in the garden. “Come, my little pet,” said the Colonel, “give me one kiss; and go with this young lady, and try to divert her. And do not forget to bring her with you the first holiday, and we will have a merry day; all your young friends shall be invited to meet you.”

In the course of the morning most of the young ladies arrived. It was a complete day of bustle. There were trunks and packages to be removed from the hall into the dressing-room; then one wanted her reticule, and another a book from her bag; and a third was searching her basket for good things, either for her own private eating, or to give to some one to whom she had taken a fancy. Then there were so many conjectures, “who and who such ladies were?” Miss Vincent and Miss Russel, who were declared friends, kept apart from their companions. There were few, indeed, they would deign to notice; and no one, unless her Papa had a carriage. There was an air of scorn in their countenances, which seemed to say, “here is a motley group, indeed!”

Jane had been confined to her chamber the whole of the morning, but in the afternoon strolled into the garden to converse with the young ladies. She soon felt fatigued, and went into the summer-house to rest. There, to her surprise, she beheld a young lady with a melancholy aspect, seated, with her eyes fixed intently upon the floor.

“My dear, why are you here alone?” asked Jane in a tone of kindness; “was there no young lady to walk with you?”“No, ma’am; the ladies do not wish to associate with me. They object to my complexion: and, I believe, they think that I am without feelings. The little girl would have remained with me, but her sister would not allow her.”

A loud laugh now proclaimed a party approaching the summer-house. Jane was shocked when she heard Miss Vincent exclaim, “Oh, do come in and behold her! she is a complete creole! I never saw so frightful a complexion!”

“The young lady is a stranger to me,” said another, “and I am sure I would not insult her upon any account.”

“That is a voice I know,” said Jane, stepping to the door. “My dear Miss Damer, I wish to speak to you.” Miss Vincent and her friend instantly retreated, and the young lady entered the summer-house with a blushing face.

“Here is a young lady,” said Jane, “who is a stranger; and I may add, that she is in a strange land. In introducing her to you, Miss Damer, I hope I am securing a friend for her: one who will not behold her insulted.”

Tears now rushed from Miss Arden’s eyes. “O! ma’am, I cannot thank you as I feel! Hitherto, I have only known rudeness and unkindness! When I lost my father, I thought, in coming to England—England, so famed for every thing great and noble—that I should be a stranger to all sorrow but that of remembrance.”Miss Damer was too much moved to express herself as she wished. “Come,” said Jane, in a cheerful voice, “we must not have sorrow at this our first meeting. I perceive that Miss Damer and you will be friends, so come with me; you shall be my guests this evening, and we will leave the other young ladies to my sister.”

With a countenance expressive of kindness, Jane took an arm of each of the young ladies, and walked with them up the garden. As she passed Miss Vincent and her companion, she said very quietly, “Young ladies, I hope you will conduct yourselves better to-morrow.”

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