“It would not perhaps be her world,” said Verena.
“You have answered me. Now I am going to say something that may annoy you; nevertheless I must say it. Your acquaintanceship with that girl as a friend must cease, and absolutely. She is not your equal. You are not to know her as a friend. If you meet her, there is no reason why you should not be civil, but civility and friendship are different things. If the time comes when she is in need or in trouble, I should be deeply sorry to think you would not help her, but as a friend she is to cease to exist for you. This is my firm command to all of you girls. There are to be no two voices on the subject. You may not agree with me now, and you may think me hard, but I insist on having my own way. You cease to know Nancy King as a friend. I shall myself write to that young person and forbid her to visit here. I will try not to hurt her; but there are certain distinctions of class which I for one must insist upon preserving. She is not a lady, she was not born a lady, and she never can be a lady; therefore, my dear nieces, you are not to know her.”
CHAPTER VIII.
MUSIC HATH CHARMS.
The girls were tired when they went to bed. The life of routine had fatigued them; although, of course, it would soon cease to do so. Notwithstanding, therefore, Miss Tredgold’s startling announcement with regard to Nancy King, they slept soundly; and the next morning when nine o’clock struck they all appeared in the schoolroom, their persons neat, their hair carefully brushed, and each pair of eyes beaming with intelligence. Even Penelope looked her very best in a clean brown holland frock, and she went quite creditably through her alphabet, and did not squiggle her pot-hooks quite as much as she had done on the previous day.
Miss Tredgold was in an excellent humor. She praised the girls, told them she was much pleased with their performances, and said further that, if only they would meet her half-way by being attentive and intelligent and earnest in their work, she on her part would do all in her power to make lessons agreeable; she would teach them in a way which would be sure to arouse their interest, and she would vary the work with play, and give them as gay a time as the bright weather and their own happy hearts would permit.
The girls felt quite cheerful; they even began to whisper one to another that Aunt Sophia was developing more and more good points as days went on.
On that afternoon a great excitement was in store, for a beautiful new piano was to arrive from Broadwood’s, and Aunt Sophia announced that she meant to play on it for the benefit of the entire household that evening.
“For, my dears,” said that good lady, “I have forgotten neither my playing nor my singing. I will sing you old-fashioned songs to-night, and I quite hope that I may lure your father from his retirement. There was a time when he was musical—very musical.”