She was eager now for another chance to talk with David, and she fancied he wished for it too; but demands of school on the one hand, and Norton and Mrs. Laval on the other, for days made it impossible.

For Matilda well understood that the matter was not to be openly spoken of, and the opportunity must be private when it came. She studied her new little Bible meanwhile with great a.s.siduity, hoping to prepare herself for David's questions; however, she soon found she could not do that. She could only get familiar with the arrangements of her book; what David might ask or might say, it was impossible to guess.

Meantime Judy's disagreeable attentions continued.

"Why do you not eat your soup, Matilda?" Mrs. Lloyd asked one day. It was Sunday of course; the day when the young folks dined with the old ones.

"It is very hot, grandmamma."

"Hot? mine isn't hot. It is not hot at all; not _too_ hot."

"It is hot with pepper, I think."

"Pepper? There is not pepper enough in it."

Matilda thought that Mrs. Lloyd's palate and her own perhaps perceived pepper differently. But when the first course was served and Matilda had taken curry, of which she was very fond, this was again hot; so sharp, in fact, that she could not eat it.

"What's the matter?" said Mrs. Lloyd,--"pepper there too?"

"It is very hot, ma'am," said Matilda, while Judy burst out laughing.

"Curry always is hot, child," said the old lady. "Why do you take it, if you do not like it?"

"I like it very much, grandmamma; only to-day--"

"It is not any hotter than usual, to-day. You should know what you want before you take it. You can make your dinner of rice, then."

The rice was as hot as the rest of it, Matilda thought. She could not eat; and she was hungry, for she had had a good walk and a brisk lesson in Sunday school; but the fiery portion on her plate quite baffled her hunger. She was never helped to pudding or pie more than once; she went hungry to bed.

That did her no harm; but it happened again and again that, if not starved, she was at least disappointed of eating something she liked, or had something she did eat, spoiled by its seasoning. Very indulgent as Mrs. Lloyd was about things in general, respecting table manners and all the etiquette of graceful behaviour at meal times she was exceedingly particular. She did not allow the young people to make any ado about what they eat. She gave them liberty enough of choice, but once the choice made, it was made; and mistakes were at the person's own risk. So when Matilda's salad was very spicy with cinnamon, or her ice cream excessively and unaccountably salt, or her oysters seemed to have been under a heavy shower of red pepper, there was no resource but to be quiet; unless she would have made a scene; as it was, she got credit for being fanciful and very dainty.

Weeks pa.s.sed before she and David could be alone together; eager and curious and sympathetic as she was. David did not change; the gloom of his troublesome thoughts hung over him, she could see, all the while; though n.o.body else seemed to notice it. At last, one evening in March, it fell out that all the family were going to the theatre. Even Mrs.

Lloyd; for some particular attraction was just then drawing crowds to the nightly spectacle; and Norton and Judy had put in their claim to be allowed to go, and it had been granted. David was invited, but he refused without ceremony. Mrs. Laval turned to Matilda; and Mrs. Lloyd asked graciously if she would like to go? Now Matilda would have liked very much to go, on one side of the question; yet her answer was a grateful negative.

"What's the reason?" said the old lady. "It is no use asking for Davy's reasons, for they are sure to be immovable; but you, Tilly, what's the matter with you? Were you ever there?"

"No, ma'am, never."

"It'll amuse you, child; come! Judy's going."

It was difficult to answer; but Matilda remembered words she had heard from Mr. Richmond, which shewed that he did not think the theatre a place for a Christian to be amused in; and without in the least understanding his reasons, Matilda did not dare go. She said, and truly, that she would rather stay at home; and so it fell out that she and David were left for a whole evening alone.

The carriage had driven off; the two came back into the little reception room where the family usually had tea and spent the evening; Matilda having slipped upstairs and brought down her two Bibles. David turned up the gas and looked at her.

"What have you got there, Tilly?"

"A book that will help us, I hope."

"I wish it would help me!" said David, as he sat down and buried his face in his hands.

"We've got all the evening to ourselves, if we want it," said Matilda a little timidly.

"Yes. They will not be home before twelve o' clock."

But David did not seem in a hurry to avail himself of his opportunity.

He sat with his head in his hands, and then got up and walked about, looking dark enough. Matilda waited and watched him, wondering and anxious.

"What do you think of Judy?" he said suddenly, coming to a stand opposite Matilda.

"I think she likes to amuse herself," Matilda answered, very much surprised.

"How do you like her amusing herself at your expense?"

"I don't like it, David."

"Why don't you get angry?"

"I do."

"So do I, sometimes; but it is your affair. Why don't you speak out?"

"She wouldn't care, David; it wouldn't make any difference."

"Judy? No, not with her; but why don't you speak out to grandmamma, or aunt Zara? They would care."

Matilda's cheeks flushed, and her eyes even looked a little watery; she did not answer at once.

"I don't want to do that, David."

"Why not?"

"It wouldn't be returning good for evil, you know."

"Good for evil! no," said David; "but it would be right."

"I don't think it would be right," Matilda said gently.

"Why wouldn't it? Good for evil? that is not the law; and it is not justice. The law is, 'Life shall go for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.'"

"I don't want to do justice," said Matilda smiling.

"Why not?" He was observing the little girl closely.

"I don't know, David; it would be no pleasure. Besides--"

"Besides what?"

"Jesus says we mustn't."