Sometimes her mother would be reduced to tears by her conduct. When Juliet saw her thus grieved, she would be filled with contrition, even to self-loathing. She would overwhelm her mother with tender caresses and loving words. She would make many promises of amendment, and as long as the remorseful feeling lasted she would be quite gentle and docile in her ways. But, alas! The softened mood was never of long continuance. The old spirit would soon assert itself, and the wilful determination, to take her own way at any cost, rule her actions again.
At first the singing lessons were a pure delight to her.
Signor Lombardi's words seemed full of encouragement and even of flattering prophecy. But after a while, he began to criticise and correct with some sharpness. One day, he exhibited the utmost impatience because she did not play properly the accompaniment of her song.
"I did not undertake to teach you the A B C of music," he remarked, in scathing tones.
Juliet came home in despair, and cried bitterly as she told her mother about it. Mrs. Tracy persuaded her to ask Salome to help her in mastering the difficult accompaniment. Juliet's pride hated the idea of asking such help of Salome, but her dread of receiving a second rebuke from her master was even stronger than her pride. She humbled herself, and made the request of her sister.
Salome consented, but with a bad grace. She tried to improve the opportunity by showing Juliet how much she had missed by not continuing to study music with her. There is nothing more aggravating than some people's "I told you so. I knew you would regret it when it was too late."
Juliet could ill brook such comments, and the music lesson ended in a storm of recriminations which did not conduce to the harmony of the household.
Mrs. Tracy had accompanied Juliet when she went to take her first lesson of Signor Lombardi. On the following week, too, she went with her; but when the day for the third lesson came one of her severe headaches made it impossible for Mrs. Tracy to go out. She was at no time strong enough to bear much of the excitement and fatigue going about in London. She hoped that one of Juliet's sisters would be willing to accompany her. Salome at once declared that it would be impossible for her to go, since she was expected at a Dorcas meeting that afternoon, and Hannah looked annoyed at the suggestion, and said it would be very inconvenient for her to go, though she did not refuse to do so.
But when Juliet heard the question raised, she at once settled the matter in her own way. "I want neither Hannah nor Salome," she said. "I will go alone. There is no reason in the world why I should not. Other girls went about in London alone. It was a foolish and exploded notion that girls needed always to have a duenna. I have no patience with it. I hope I know how to take care of myself. I hate to be treated as a child."
To her mother, it seemed that many girls might be better trusted to go about alone than Juliet. Not that she doubted her daughter's discretion. But the girl was so pretty and striking-looking, she was certain to attract attention wherever she went, and might possibly be subjected to impertinence. But it was vain to argue the question with Juliet. She was bent on doing as she liked, and from that day she went alone to take her singing lessons.