and her pupil were at open warfare,
she endeavouring to teach, Mary determined not to learn. The poor lady
was very conscientious, and very well instructed, but she was not
judicious. She never found out that her pupil would have been an
absolute slave to affection, but was altogether hardened to severity,
and when she failed in herself enforcing her authority, she made the
great and most unlucky mistake of appealing to George Wynter. Mary, up
to that time, had had no dislike to her cousin. He was nearly twenty
years older than herself, an excellent man, who took everything _au pied
de la lettre_, and who, perceiving that what Miss Smith said was
reasonable, thought duty and common sense required him to "speak to" her
_un_reasonable pupil. He never discovered his mistake--nor Miss Smith
hers; but things grew more and more uncomfortable. Miss Smith tired of
her struggles, and sought more manageable pupils; and Mary, immediately
after her fifteenth birthday, was sent to school.

Removed to a new atmosphere, no longer chilled by loneliness or
embittered by the consciousness of perpetual disapproval, the girl began
to bloom sweetly and naturally. For the first time she was fortunate in
her surroundings. Companionship made her gay, and emulation woke keen
and successful ambition. Nearly three years passed, and, in place of
ignorance and insubordination, she had gained a bright intelligence and
a becoming submission. At seventeen she returned home, a girl who would
have brought to a mother both pride and anxiety.

But there was no mother to receive her. At the sight of her, her father
was a little shaken out of his accustomed thoughts and habits. He tried
to imagine what his wife would have done or counselled for their child's
good, but his imagination was unpractised and would not help him much.
He made one great effort for her sake. He took her abroad, and for a
whole year travelled about, showing her much that was best worth seeing
in the south of Europe--but seeing _places_ chiefly, people seldom. In
all this time she saw nothing of her cousin George--he had almost fallen
out of her acquaintance, and taken the place of a disagreeable memory.
But when she and her father came home, he was there to receive them, and
she began to realize that his presence was to be an essential part of
her home life. More than that, she now perceived how distinctly he stood
between her and her father--a fact she had forgotten while they were