‘Prescribe us not our duties.’

‘Well, Phyllis,’ said her father, as he passed through the hall to mount his horse, ‘how do you like the prospect of Monsieur le Roi’s instructions?’

‘Not at all, papa,’ answered Phyllis, running out to the hall door to pat the horse, and give it a piece of bread.

‘Take care you turn out your toes,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘You must learn to dance like a dragon before Cousin Rotherwood’s birthday next year.’

‘Papa, how do dragons dance?’

‘That is a question I must decide at my leisure,’ said Mr. Mohun, mounting. ‘Stand out of the way, Phyl, or you will feel how horses dance.’

Away he rode, while Phyllis turned with unwilling steps to the nursery, to be dressed for her first dancing lesson; Marianne Weston was to learn with her, and this was some consolation, but Phyllis could not share in the satisfaction Adeline felt in the arrival of Monsieur le Roi. Jane was also a pupil, but Lily, whose recollections of her own dancing days were not agreeable, absented herself entirely from the dancing-room, even though Alethea Weston had come with her sister.

Poor Phyllis danced as awkwardly as was expected, but Adeline seemed likely to be a pupil in whom a master might rejoice; Marianne was very attentive and not ungraceful, but Alethea soon saw reason to regret the arrangement that had been made, for she perceived that Jane considered the master a fair subject for derision, and her ‘nods and becks, and wreathed smiles,’ called up corresponding looks in Marianne’s face.

‘Oh Brownie, you are a naughty thing!’ said Emily, as soon as M. le Roi had departed.

‘He really was irresistible!’ said Jane.

‘I suppose ridicule is one of the disagreeables to which a dancing-master makes up his mind,’ said Alethea.

‘Yes,’ said Jane, ‘one can have no compunction in quizzing that species.’

‘I do not think I can quite say that, Jane,’ said Miss Weston.

‘This man especially lays himself open to ridicule,’ said Jane; ‘do you know, Alethea, that he is an Englishman, and his name is King, only he calls himself Le Roi, and speaks broken English!’

Though Alethea joined in the general laugh, she did not feel quite satisfied; she feared that if not checked in time, Jane would proceed to actual impertinence, and that Marianne would be tempted to follow her example, but she did not like to interfere, and only advised Marianne to be on her guard, hoping that Emily would also speak seriously to her sister.

On the next occasion, however, Jane ventured still farther; her grimaces were almost irresistible, and she had a most comical manner of imitating the master’s attitudes when his eye was not upon her, and putting on a demure countenance when he turned towards her, which sorely tried Marianne.

‘What shall I do, Alethea?’ said the little girl, as the sisters walked home together; ‘I do not know how to help laughing, if Jane will be so very funny.’

‘I am afraid we must ask mamma to let us give up the dancing,’ replied Alethea; ‘the temptation is almost too strong, and I do not think she would wish to expose you to it.’

‘But, Alethea, why do not you speak to Jane?’ asked Marianne; ‘no one seems to tell her it is wrong; Miss Mohun was almost laughing.’

‘I do not think Jane would consider that I ought to find fault with her,’ said Alethea.

‘But you would not scold her,’ urged Marianne; ‘only put her in mind that it is not right, not kind; that Monsieur le Roi is in authority over her for the time.’

‘I will speak to mamma,’ said Alethea, ‘perhaps it will be better next time.’

And it was better, for Mr. Mohun happening to be at home, was dragged into the dancing-room by Emily and Ada. Once, when she thought he was looking another way, Jane tried to raise a smile, but a stern ‘Jane, what are you thinking of?’ recalled her to order, and when the lesson was over her father spoke gravely to her, telling her that he thought few things more disgusting in a young lady than impertinence towards her teachers; and then added, ‘Miss Weston, I hope you keep strict watch over these giddy young things.’

Awed by her father, Jane behaved tolerably well at that time and the next, and Miss Weston hoped her interference would not be needed, but as if to make up for this restraint, her conduct a fortnight after was quite beyond bearing. She used every means to make Marianne laugh, and at last went so far as to pretend to think that M. le Roi had not understood what she said in English, and to translate it into French. Poor Marianne looked imploringly at her sister, and Alethea hoped that Emily would interpose, but Emily was turning away her head to conceal a laugh, and Miss Weston was obliged to give Jane a very grave look, which she perfectly understood, though she pretended not to see it. When the exercise was over Miss Weston made her a sign to approach, and said, ‘Jane, do you think your papa would have liked—’

‘What do you mean?’ said Jane, ‘I have not been laughing.’

‘You know what I mean,’ said Alethea, ‘and pray do not be displeased if I ask you not to make it difficult for Marianne to behave properly.’

Jane drew up her head and went back to her place. She played no more tricks that day, but as soon as the guests were gone, began telling Lilias how Miss Weston had been meddling and scolding her.

‘And well you must have deserved it,’ said Lily.

‘I do not say that Jenny was right,’ said Emily, ‘but I think Miss Weston might allow me to correct my own sister in my own house.’

‘You correct Jane!’ cried Lily, and Jane laughed.

‘I only mean,’ said Emily, ‘that it was not very polite, and papa says the closest friendship is no reason for dispensing with the rules of politeness.’

‘Certainly not,’ said Lily, ‘the rules of politeness are rules of love, and it was in love that Alethea spoke; she sees how sadly we are left to ourselves, and is kind enough to speak a word in season.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Jane, ‘since it was in love that she spoke, you would like to have her for our reprover for ever, and I can assure you more unlikely things have happened. I have heard it from one who can judge.’

‘Let me hear no more of this,’ said Emily, ‘it is preposterous and ridiculous, and very disrespectful to papa.’

Jane for once, rather shocked at her own words, went back to what had been said just before.

‘Then, perhaps, you would like to have Eleanor back again?’

‘I am sure you want some one to put you in mind of your duty,’ said Lily.

‘Eleanor and duty!’ cried Emily; ‘you who thought so much of the power of love!’

‘Of Emily and love, she would say, if it sounded well,’ said Jane.

‘I cannot see what true love you or Jane are showing now,’ said Lily, ‘it is no kindness to encourage her pertness, or to throw away a friendly reproof because it offends your pride.’

‘Nobody reproved me,’ replied Emily; ‘besides, I know love will prevail; for my sake Jane will not expose herself and me to a stranger’s interference.’

‘If you depend upon that, I wish you joy,’ said Lilias, as she left the room.

‘What a weathercock Lily is!’ cried Jane, ‘she has fallen in love with Alethea Weston, and echoes all she says.’

‘Not considering her own inconsistency,’ said Emily.

‘That Alethea Weston,’ exclaimed Jane, in an angry tone;—but Emily, beginning to recover some sense of propriety, said, ‘Jenny, you know you were very ill-bred, and you made it difficult for the little ones to behave well.’

‘Not our own little ones,’ said Jane; ‘honest Phyl did not understand the joke, and Ada was thinking of her attitudes; one comfort is, that I shall be confirmed in three weeks’ time, and then people cannot treat me as a mere child—little as I am.’

‘Oh! Jane,’ said Emily, ‘I do not like to hear you talk of confirmation in that light way.’

‘No, no,’ said Jane, ‘I do not mean it—of course I do not mean it—don’t look shocked—it was only by the bye—and another by the bye, Emily, you know I must have a cap and white ribbons, and I am afraid I must make it myself.’

‘Ay, that is the worst of having Esther,’ said Emily, ‘she and Hannah have no notion of anything but the plainest work; I am sure if I had thought of all the trouble of that kind which having a young girl would entail, I would never have consented to Esther’s coming.’

‘That was entirely Lily’s scheme,’ said Jane.

‘Yes; it is impossible to resist Lily, she is so eager and anxious, and it would have vexed her very much if I had opposed her, and that I cannot bear; besides, Esther is a very nice girl, and will learn.’

‘There is Robert talking to papa on the green,’ said Jane; ‘what a deep conference; what can it be about?’

If Jane had heard that conversation she might have perceived that she could not wilfully offend, even in what she thought a trifling matter, without making it evident, even to others, that there was something very wrong about her. At that moment the Rector was saying to his uncle, ‘I am in doubt about Jane, I cannot but fear she is not in a satisfactory state for confirmation, and I wished to ask you what you think?’

‘Act just as you would with any of the village girls,’ said Mr. Mohun.

‘I should be very sorry to do otherwise,’ said Mr. Devereux; ‘but I thought you might like, since every one knows that she is a candidate, that she should not be at home at the time of the confirmation, if it is necessary to refuse her.’

‘No,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I should not wish to shield her from the disgrace. It may be useful to her, and besides, it will establish your character for impartiality. I have not been satisfied with all I saw of little Jane for some time past, and I am afraid that much passes amongst my poor girls which never comes to my knowledge. Her pertness especially is probably restrained in my presence.’

‘It is not so much the pertness that I complain of,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘for that might be merely exuberance of spirits, but there is a sort of habitual irreverence, which makes one dread to bring her nearer to sacred tings.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘and I think the pertness is a branch of it, more noticed because more inconvenient to others.’

‘Yes,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘I think the fault I speak of is most evident; when there is occasion to reprove her, I am always baffled by a kind of levity which makes every warning glance aside.’

‘Then I should decidedly say refuse her,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘It would be a warning that she could not disregard, and the best chance of improving her.’

‘Yet,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘if she is eager for confirmation, and regards it in its proper light, it is hard to say whether it is right to deny it to her; it may give her the depth and earnestness which she needs.’

‘Poor child,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘she has great disadvantages; I am quite sure our present system is not fit for her. Things shall be placed on a different footing, and in another year or two I hope she may be fitter for confirmation. However, before you finally decide, I should wish to have some conversation with her, and speak to you again.

‘That is just what I wish,’ said Mr. Devereux.