"It was got with Susan's half-crown," added Sophia Jane quickly, "so it's from both of us."

"Ah, that is very amiable of you both," said Mademoiselle. "Gambetta has both the two of you to thank--and Adolphe also; that is very agreeable."

And so the event which Susan had thought of and dreaded so much pa.s.sed with this slight remark. The confession had been made, and her mind was clear again, and free. Free to laugh, and talk, and look people straight in the face, and be her old happy self. But there was one thing she never forgot, and that was Sophia Jane's generosity. By burning that letter she had gained not only Susan's affection but her respect; she should never look down upon her again.

Meanwhile Gambetta became restive, and, in spite of all his mistress's entreaties, broke away from her, and refused to settle down till he had made a thorough examination of the room. He jumped on to the table, smelt all the chairs, looked suspiciously behind the chest of drawers, and walked gingerly in his high furry boots amongst Sophia Jane's medicine bottles. His every movement was watched and admired, and by the time Buskin brought in tea he had finished his inquiries and drawn near the group by the fire. Then, after one thoughtful glance round, he chose Sophia Jane's position as being the warmest, softly leapt on to her lap, and snuggled himself among her shawls, In this situation he presently began a purring song of comfort, in which he was joined by the tea-kettle. Sophia Jane's satisfaction was now complete. Mademoiselle Delphine's face beamed, and Susan, pouring out tea with Aunt Hannah's best pink set, felt almost too happy for words. Probably few rooms held four happier creatures that evening.

It was pleasant to see how Mademoiselle enjoyed herself; how she said, "Excellente!" to the tea, and water-cresses, and m.u.f.fins, and how she coaxed Sophia Jane to eat, and made her laugh. She was one of those fortunate people who pick up pleasures everywhere, and find amus.e.m.e.nt in the most common things of life. After tea she told them stories.

Interesting details about Paris, and Adolphe, and their journey to England with poor Gambetta in a basket, and all this made the time pa.s.s so quickly, that when the clock struck seven everyone was startled.

Mademoiselle herself sprang up at once with a little shriek. She had promised to meet Adolphe at a certain point on her way home, and he would without doubt be waiting for her. Gambetta, therefore, was hustled into his basket before he had time to resist, and Mademoiselle, having embraced her little friends heartily, was soon on her way.

The two little girls were silent for a minute after she had gone.

Sophia Jane, languid after such unusual excitement, stared absently at the fire, and Susan, not yet quite at her ease, did not like to speak first. But when Buskin entered it seemed to give her courage, and she said:

"Haven't we had a nice tea-party?"

"Yes," answered Sophia Jane; and added thoughtfully, "it's very nice to be ill."

"But I want you to get well," said Susan. "You can't think how dull it is down-stairs without you."

Buskin would not allow any further conversation, and Susan had to say good-night and go away. As she kissed her friend's tiny befrilled face, she felt for the first time really fond of her, and grateful also. She had made the discovery lately that you could not judge people by their outsides, or even by what others said of them. Under her cross, crabbed manner Sophia Jane had hidden a grateful heart, which had answered to the first touch of kindness; and disguised by sharp and shrewish words, she had shown a really generous and forgiving spirit. Like Madame Jones, it appeared that she had a n.o.ble heart.

The next day was one of some excitement to Susan, for it had been arranged that she was to spend it with some friends of Margaretta and Nanna who lived at Ramsgate. Their name was Winslow. It was not altogether a pleasant prospect, for she had never been there before, and she had very little hope that she should find them agreeable. Not that she knew anything against them; on the contrary, their name was never uttered without words of admiration, and if Nanna or Margaretta wished to bestow high approval on anything, they always said it was like something the Winslows had. It appeared, indeed, that these friends were much favoured by fortune. Their house was the pleasantest, their horses the best, their taste the most excellent, their children the prettiest and most clever. It was this last point which had specially interested Sophia Jane and Susan, and they had gradually come to dislike the little Winslows, though they knew nothing of them but their names and appearance. Whenever Nanna or Margaretta returned from seeing these friends they were brimful of admiration at the excellent conduct and talent of the children, and did not fail to draw unfavourable contrasts.

They described their dresses, repeated their speeches, and gave many instances of their polite behaviour and obedience to rules. Little Eva, who was not so old as Susan, could already play "The Harmonious Blacksmith" without a mistake. Dear Julia, who was Sophia Jane's exact age, danced the minuet with the utmost elegance, and always held herself upright. As for darling Lucy, she spoke French with ease, and had begged to be allowed to begin German.

Although they had never spoken to these wonderful children, the little girls had often met them out of doors walking with their governess, and had long ago made up their minds about them.

They thought them prim and dull-looking, and found something annoying in their neatly-dressed little figures, and the perfect propriety with which they stepped along, holding their small round heads rather high.

They imagined, too, that they had seen them cast glances of surprise and disdain on Sophia Jane's clothes, which were often shabby, and never becoming. They agreed, therefore, in considering them disagreeable children, and were by no means anxious for their acquaintance.

Remembering all this, Susan felt there was no chance at all that she should enjoy herself, and she did not get much comfort from Sophia Jane, when she went to say good-bye.

"I'm glad I'm not going," she said. "I know I should hate 'em. You know we always have."

"Perhaps they'll be nicer in-doors," said Susan, though she did not think it probable.

"I believe they're all horrid, every one of 'em," said Sophia Jane decidedly, "in-doors and out, and I'm glad I'm not going."

"It wouldn't be quite so bad if you were," said Susan with a sigh, "because we could talk about it afterwards. But I must go; there's Margaretta calling me."

"I hope, Susan," said Margaretta, as they walked along the parade together, "that you will remember to behave very nicely, and answer properly when Mrs Winslow speaks to you. Don't blush and look shy.

The little Winslows never look silly, and I have never seen them blush."

"Are you fond of Mrs Winslow?" asked Susan. "She's very kind,"

answered Margaretta, "and very clever. She knows a great deal about education."

Susan asked no more questions, and in a quarter of an hour they arrived at the house which was large and tall, with green balconies, and a great many windows. Part of it faced the sea, and part of it went round the corner into a street, and it all looked, inside and out, so bright and clean and new that it was quite dazzling. Susan thought she had never seen a house where everything shone so much, and there was so much light. Not a shadow, not a dark corner anywhere, and all the furniture was polished so highly that she saw herself and Margaretta reflected a dozen times as they moved along. When they reached the drawing-room it was still more confusing, for there were so many mirrors, and windows, and statuettes under gla.s.s cases, that the brilliancy almost brought tears to her eyes, it was such a contrast to the dimness of Aunt Hannah's low ceilings and small rooms. Wherever she turned her head, too, another Susan stared at her, and this made her feel shy and uncomfortable.

"Isn't it a beautiful room?" said Margaretta, seating herself on a pompous yellow sofa. "So cheerful!"

Before Susan could answer, Mrs Winslow came in. She was a fair lady with a very straight nose, and she welcomed them kindly, and asked after Sophia Jane.

"My little people," she continued, scarcely waiting, Susan noticed, for Margaretta's answer, "are just returning from their walk. Air and light are as necessary to the young as to flowers, are they not? How can we expect their minds to expand unless the body is healthy?"

"No, indeed," said Margaretta.

Mrs Winslow then proposed that they should go and take off their hats, which being done she led the way down-stairs into the dining-room, where the "little people" were already a.s.sembled with their governess for their early dinner. During this Susan had plenty of time for observation, and she soon decided that she should have to tell Sophia Jane that they were _not_ nicer in-doors than out. They were wonderfully alike: all had little straight noses, fair complexions, and pale blue eyes, and when they spoke they said all their words very distinctly, and never cut any of them short. They were very polite to Susan.

"I encourage conversation with my children during meal-time, on principle," said Mrs Winslow. "How can you expect them to acquire right habits of speaking if silence is imposed?"

"No, indeed," said Margaretta again.

"The force of habit," continued Mrs Winslow, putting down her knife and fork, and looking from Margaretta to Miss Pink, the governess, "has never, it seems to me, been sufficiently considered in education. It in a giant power. It rests with us to turn it this way or that, to give it a right or a wrong direction, to use it for good or for evil. I say to my children, for instance, 'always think before you act, in the smallest as well as the greatest things.' By degrees I thus form in them habits of steadiness, thoughtfulness, calmness, which will not desert them when called upon to act in moments of danger and difficulty. 'Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it'--nay more, he _cannot_ depart from it."

It was quite by chance as Mrs Winslow said these last words that her eyes rested on Susan, who had been staring at her all the while she had been speaking, and who now felt that an answer of some kind was expected. She had none to give, however, for she had not been listening at all to what had been said, her mind being filled with wonder and awe at Mrs Winslow, who talked as though she were reading aloud. She only blushed, therefore, and immediately became aware that three pairs of pale blue eyes were fastened upon her from the other side of the table.

The little Winslows never blushed, Margaretta had said, and of course they thought her very silly. She longed for the meal to be over, and the visit also. Why, she wondered, were Margaretta and Nanna so fond of coming here? Margaretta did not look as if she were enjoying herself much. She was sitting in a stiff position, with her head a little on one side, watching every glance of Mrs Winslow's, so that she might say, "yes, indeed," or "quite so," or "exactly," in the right place.

Her voice did not sound like the voice she had at Aunt Hannah's, but smaller, and she said her words mincingly. Susan felt sure she was not enjoying herself. Why _did_ she come?

Presently the conversation became more interesting, and Susan now listened to it with some anxiety, for Mrs Winslow was making arrangements for the afternoon, and she hoped to hear of an early return to Belmont Cottage. She did not want to see any more of the little Winslows, and quite longed to get back to Sophia Jane and tell her all about them. It was disappointing, therefore, to hear it decided that Margaretta should drive out with Mrs Winslow, who would leave her at Aunt Hannah's, and that Susan should walk back later with Miss Pink and the little people. Margaretta was almost to be envied. Perhaps it was because she liked driving in a carriage with a pair of swift horses that she liked coming here. And yet Mrs Winslow's presence would spoil anything, Susan thought. If she went on talking like that, and Margaretta had to sit up and listen to her and make little remarks, the drive would not be worth having; it could not be much worse to walk home with the little Winslows.

After dinner the little girls took their visitor into the schoolroom, where they were to amuse themselves until it was time to start for their walk. It was a large bright room like all the others in the house; but this cheerfulness did not seem to have affected the Winslows themselves.

They were quiet children, always good and obedient, but rather dull.

They did not seem to understand games, and seldom laughed. How very different they were to Sophia Jane! Certainly she was not nearly so well behaved, but then she was a far more amusing companion. The afternoon seemed endless.

"Don't you ever play with dolls?" Susan asked at last.

"No," answered Lucy the eldest, "we are too old. Eva has one, but we put away our dolls on my last birthday."

"What _do_ you play at?" inquired Susan.

"We haven't much time to play," replied Lucy seriously, "because we belong to so many things."

"What things?"

"There's the 'Early Rising Society,' and the 'Half-hour Needlework for the East-End Society,' and the 'Reading Society,' and the 'Zenana Meetings;' and we're all 'Young Abstainers.'"

"What's that?" asked Susan.

"It's the children's temperance society. We pledge ourselves not to take alcohol, and to prevent others from taking it if we can. There's a meeting once a month. It's our turn next time to have it here."

"What do you do when you meet?" inquired Susan.

"Some of us work," said Lucy, "and someone reads aloud."

"And then," added little Eva, "we have tea."

There was a faint look of satisfaction on Eva's face as she said this.

"Eva thinks tea is the best part of all," said Julia, the next sister, rather scornfully.