the performance. This being at her
best, the worst may be supposed to be indescribable, when dashed off in
a violent hurry, and considerably garnished with blots. Margaret thought
she had seen the worst, and was sighing at being able to say nothing for
it, when Miss Winter confounded her by turning a leaf, and showing it
was possible to make a still wilder combination of scramble, niggle,
scratch, and crookedness--and this was supposed to be an amended
edition! Miss Winter explained that Ethel had, in an extremely short
time, performed an exercise in which no fault could be detected except
the writing, which was pronounced to be too atrocious to be shown up to
M. Ballompre. On being desired to write it over again, she had obeyed
with a very bad grace, and some murmurs about Cocksmoor, and produced
the second specimen, which, in addition to other defects, had some
elisions from arrant carelessness, depriving it of its predecessor's
merits of being good French.

Miss Winter had been so provoked that she believed this to be an effect
of ill temper, and declared that she should certainly have kept Ethel at
home to write it over again, if it had not so happened that Dr. May had
proposed to walk part of the way with her and Richard, and the governess
was unwilling to bring her into disgrace with him. Margaret was so
grateful to her for this forbearance, that it disposed her to listen
the more patiently to the same representations put in, what Miss Winter
fancied, different forms. Margaret was much perplexed. She could not but
see much truth in what Miss Winter said, and yet she could not bear
to thwart Ethel, whom she admired with her whole heart; and that dry
experience, and prejudiced preciseness, did not seem capable of entering
into her sister's thirst for learning and action. When Miss Winter said
Ethel would grow up odd, eccentric, and blue, Margaret was ready to
answer that she would be superior to every one; and when the governess
urged her to insist on Cocksmoor being given up, she felt impatient of
that utter want of sympathy for the good work.

All that evening Margaret longed for a quiet time to reflect, but it
never came till she was in bed; and when she had made up her mind how to
speak to Ethel, it was five times harder to secure her alone. Even when
Margaret had her in the room by herself, she looked wild and eager, and
said she could not stay, she had some Thucydides to do.

"Won't you stay with me a littl