Miss Scott. Mrs. Middleton has so much reliance on her elder pupils, that she is not afraid to trust us sometimes without Miss Loxley. And we, certainly, have never yet abused her confidence.
Henrietta. O, you are undoubtedly a most exemplary set! But you never had one like me among you. I shall soon put a little spirit into you all, and get you out of this strict-propriety sort of way. I do not despair even of my friend Isabella Caldwell, the good girl of the school.
Isabella. Our way is a very satisfactory one. It is impossible for boarding-school girls to be happier than we are. Our minds are not exhausted with long and difficult lessons, and with studies beyond our capacity. When school-hours are over, we have full time for recreation, and are amply provided with the means of amusing ourselves. We have a library of entertaining books; and we have liberty to divert ourselves with all sorts of juvenile plays and games. Then how much attention is paid to our health and our comforts, and how kindly and judiciously are we treated in every respect! Certainly, we ought to think ourselves happy.
Henrietta. Ay! so you are made to say in the letters which you write home to your parents. All our French letters, at Madame Disette's were written first by her niece Mademoiselle Mensonge; and the English letters were manufactured by poor Benson; and then we copied them in our very best hands, with a new pen at every paragraph. They were all nearly the same; and told of nothing but the superabundant kindness and liberality of Madame Disette, our high respect and esteem for Madame Trompeur, her sister, and our vast affection for her amiable niece, Mademoiselle Mensonge: together with our perfect health, and extreme felicity. In every letter we grew happier and happier.
Miss Snodgrass. And were you not so in reality?
Henrietta. No, indeed,—all the happiness we had was of our own making, for we derived none from any thing our governess did for us; though we were obliged in our letters to call her our beloved Madame Disette, and to express the most fervent hopes that we might one day exactly resemble her; which, I am sure, was the last thing we could have desired; for she was one of the ugliest women that I ever saw in my life.
Miss Thomson. But you might have wished to resemble her in mind and manners.
Henrietta. Why, as to that, her mind was worse than her face, and her manners we all thought absolutely ridiculous. Benson could mimic her exactly.
Miss Marley. I do not wonder that your parents took you away from such a school.
Henrietta. The school was certainly bad enough. We had dirty, uncomfortable chambers; scanty fires; a mean table, and all such inconveniences. But then it was a very fashionable school; all the masters were foreigners, and above all things there was a great point made of our speaking French. We knew the common phrases perfectly well. We could all say, Comment vous portez vous,—Je vous remerçie,—Il fait beau-temps,—Donnez-moi un epingle,—Lequel aimez-vous mieux, le bleu ou le vert? and many other things equally sensible and interesting. This was what was called French conversation, and we were all able to join in it, after taking lessons in French a very few quarters.