Matilda felt at this moment she would rather that she had not done so, but still she was gratified and flattered that one generally allowed to be so clever and accomplished as Lydia, and who was several years older than herself, should make quite a friend of her, and even often condescend to ask her advice. Had Matilda reflected further, she would have been aware that though she did so, she seldom or ever followed it. Lydia, in fact, always ended by taking her own way in every thing, though apparently yielding to the judgment of others. She now, as if to change the subject, observed, “What nice-looking books you have got on those shelves; your school-room always looks so cheerful and so comfortable. What a pretty book that seems to be at the top there; I should like to see it.”
“Oh, that is a beautiful book,” Matilda answered; “but it belongs to Mrs. Roberts. There are sketches in it which were drawn by her husband; she has the greatest value for it, and she shows it to us sometimes; but she has forbidden us ever to touch it when she is not by.”
“Oh, she is afraid, I suppose, of Alfred’s dirty little hands, for you know he is for ever grubbing in the earth, hunting after snails or spiders, or some such creatures; but a young lady’s hands are very different,” and she drew off her nice kid glove, and displayed her pretty little white hand, on which a beautiful ring sparkled which had often been Matilda’s admiration. “You cannot suppose,” she continued, “that she would have any objections to my looking at the book; and as she is so very obliging and good-natured, she will be quite gratified, I am sure, that I should admire her book.” She drew a chair towards her and was mounting upon it.
Matilda held her back. “Oh pray don’t,” she said; “I don’t wish to disobey Mrs. Roberts, and I promised not to touch or look at it when she was not by.”
“Well, don’t touch it, my little pattern miss,” Lydia said; “don’t touch it; put your hands behind your back, and then you can swear you did not; you need not even look at it; shut your eyes and turn your back, my pretty dear, and I will describe, to you the beautiful scenes as I turn over the pages; for I have no pleasure when it is not shared.” Then changing her tone of raillery, she continued: “But what has come over my little Matilda? I scarcely know her again—she that used to be so obliging and so affectionate towards me—have I indeed lost my little friend?”
“Oh, no, no!” Matilda exclaimed, and tears were in her eyes. “I am still your little friend; don’t be angry with me. You will love me again, won’t you?”
Lydia’s smile was that of triumph; but Matilda did not see it—she was now covering her eyes with her hands.
Lydia jumped up on the chair and took down the book; then gently removing Matilda’s hands, she said,—“Come, darling, don’t be foolish; let me see my sweet Matilda again; let us be friends as we have ever been.”
Poor Matilda! all her sense of what was right, all her good resolutions, vanished before Lydia’s bland smile. Selina’s repeated warnings, and yet more, the texts of the morning, had been entirely forgotten.—“Show me thy ways, O Lord; teach me thy paths.” And the answer: “Trust in the Lord with all thy heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding; in all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.” Alas! had she asked in sincerity to be shown His ways, to be guided in His paths? had she not leant to her own understanding, and listened to the voice of the tempter? how then could she expect that God would direct her ways when God was not in all her thoughts? She turned over the pages of the book for Lydia, she explained the sketches, and praised them extravagantly, with a confused idea that she was atoning to Mrs. Roberts in some degree by doing so, and she gave herself completely up to the enjoyment of the moment.
“Well,” Lydia said, as she turned the last page, “now we have finished; we have had our pleasure, and what the worse, I should like to know, is the pretty book of our admiration? Come, let us put it up again in the book-case.”