When this not very gracious consent was obtained, Mam’selle Diane hastened to tell Lady Jane that, if her aunt approved, she could come to her every Saturday, from one to three, when she would teach her the piano, as well as singing; and that after the lesson, if she liked to remain awhile in the garden with the birds and flowers, she was at liberty to do so.
Lady Jane fairly flew to tell Pepsie the good news; but, much to her surprise, her merry and practical friend burst into tears and hid her face on the table among the pecan shells.
“Why, Pepsie—dear, dear Pepsie, what ails you?” cried Lady Jane, in an agony of terror, “tell me what ails you?” and, dropping Tony, she laid her little face among the shells and cried too.
“I’m—I’m—jealous,” said Pepsie, looking up after a while, and rubbing her eyes furiously. “I’m a fool, I know, but I can’t help it; I don’t want her to have you. I don’t want you to go there. Those fine, proud people will teach you to look down on us. We’re poor, my mother sells pralines, and the people that live behind that green fence are too proud and fine to notice any one in this street. They’ve lived here ever since I was born, and no one’s seen them, because they’ve kept to themselves always; and now, when I’ve just got you to love, they want to take you away, they want to teach you to—despise—us!” and Pepsie stumbled over the unusual word in her passionate vehemence, while she still cried and rubbed angrily.
“But don’t cry, Pepsie,” entreated Lady Jane. “I don’t love Mam’selle Diane as well as I love you. It’s the music, the singing. Oh, Pepsie, dear, dear Pepsie, let me learn music, and I’ll be good and love you dearly!”
“No,—no, you won’t, you won’t care any more for me,” insisted Pepsie, the little demon of jealousy raging to such a degree that she was quite ready to be unjust, as well as unreasonable.
“Are you cross at me, Pepsie?” and Lady Jane crept almost across the table to cling tearfully to her friend’s neck. “Don’t be cross, and I won’t go to Mam’selle Diane. I won’t learn music, and, Pepsie, dear, I’ll—I’ll—give you Tony!”
This was the extreme of renunciation, and it touched the generous heart of the girl to the very quick. “You dear little angel!” she cried with a sudden revulsion of feeling, clasping and kissing the child passionately. “You’re as sweet and good as you can be, and I’m wicked and selfish! Yes, wicked and selfish. It’s for your good, and I’m trying to keep you away. You ought to hate me for being so mean.”
At this moment Tite Souris entered, and, seeing the traces of tears on her mistress’s cheeks, broke out in stern, reproachful tones.
“Miss Lady, what’s you be’n a-doin’ to my Miss Peps’? You done made her cry. I see how she’s be’n a-gwine on. You jes’ look out, or her ma’ll git a’ter you, ef yer makes dat po’ crooked gal cry dat a-way.”