drawback was that by the next morning he was sure to be frozen up
again; and however much he seemed, in his quiet way, to enjoy these
social evenings, he rarely contrived their recurrence. This circumstance
puzzled the inexperienced head of his cousin. "If I had a means of
happiness at my command," she thought, "I would employ that means often.
I would keep it bright with use, and not let it lie for weeks aside,
till it gets rusty."

Yet she was careful not to put in practice her own theory. Much as she
liked an evening visit to the cottage, she never paid one unasked.
Often, indeed, when pressed by Hortense to come, she would refuse,
because Robert did not second, or but slightly seconded the request.
This morning was the first time he had ever, of his own unprompted will,
given her an invitation; and then he had spoken so kindly that in
hearing him she had received a sense of happiness sufficient to keep her
glad for the whole day.

The morning passed as usual. Mademoiselle, ever breathlessly busy, spent
it in bustling from kitchen to parlour, now scolding Sarah, now looking
over Caroline's exercise or hearing her repetition-lesson. However
faultlessly these tasks were achieved, she never commended: it was a
maxim with her that praise is inconsistent with a teacher's dignity, and
that blame, in more or less unqualified measure, is indispensable to it.
She thought incessant reprimand, severe or slight, quite necessary to
the maintenance of her authority; and if no possible error was to be
found in the lesson, it was the pupil's carriage, or air, or dress, or
mien, which required correction.

The usual affray took place about the dinner, which meal, when Sarah at
last brought it into the room, she almost flung upon the table, with a
look that expressed quite plainly, "I never dished such stuff i' my life
afore; it's not fit for dogs." Notwithstanding Sarah's scorn, it was a
savoury repast enough. The soup was a sort of puree of dried peas, which
mademoiselle had prepared amidst bitter lamentations that in this
desolate country of England no haricot beans were to be had. Then came a
dish of meat--nature unknown, but supposed to be
miscellaneous--singularly chopped up with crumbs of bread, seasoned
uniquely though not unpleasantly, and baked in a mould--a queer but by
no means unpalatable dish. Greens, oddly bruised, formed the
accompanying vegetable; and a pate of fruit, conserved after a recipe
devised by Madame Ger