it would be impertinent in Mrs Denbigh,
and I am sure she would not do anything that was impertinent. You
know, it would be but right for her to do what papa told her; and he
said a great deal to her, the other day, about finding out why you
were so cross, and bringing you right. And you are right now, dear!"
said Mrs Bradshaw, soothingly, thinking that Jemima was annoyed (like
a good child) at the recollection of how naughty she had been.

"Then papa is going to give Mrs Denbigh a gown because I was civil to
Mr Farquhar last night?"

"Yes, dear!" said Mrs Bradshaw, more and more frightened at Jemima's
angry manner of speaking--low-toned, but very indignant.

Jemima remembered, with smouldered anger, Ruth's pleading way
of wiling her from her sullenness the night before. Management
everywhere! but in this case it was peculiarly revolting; so much so,
that she could hardly bear to believe that the seemingly-transparent
Ruth had lent herself to it.

"Are you sure, mamma, that papa asked Mrs Denbigh to make me behave
differently? It seems so strange."

"I am quite sure. He spoke to her last Friday morning in the study. I
remember it was Friday, because Mrs Dean was working here."

Jemima remembered now that she had gone into the school-room on the
Friday, and found her sisters lounging about, and wondering what papa
could possibly want with Mrs Denbigh.

After this conversation, Jemima repulsed all Ruth's timid efforts to
ascertain the cause of her disturbance, and to help her if she could.
Ruth's tender, sympathising manner, as she saw Jemima daily looking
more wretched, was distasteful to the latter in the highest degree.
She could not say that Mrs Denbigh's conduct was positively wrong--it
might even be quite right; but it was inexpressibly repugnant to her
to think of her father consulting with a stranger (a week ago she
almost considered Ruth as a sister) how to manage his daughter, so as
to obtain the end he wished for; yes, even if that end was for her
own good.

She was thankful and glad to see a brown paper parcel lying on the
hall-table, with a note in Ruth's handwriting, addressed to her
father. She _knew_ what it was, the grey silk dress. That she was
sure Ruth would never accept.

No one henceforward could induce Jemima to enter into conversation
with Mr Farquhar. She suspected manoeuvring in the simplest
actions, and was miserable in this constant state of suspicion. She
would not allow herself t