Friday came, but in clouds and rain. So the Berlet excursion was given up, and Marion’s becoming better acquainted with her pupils had to be deferred till Monday, when her new duties began.
The first morning’s lessons passed off better than the inexperienced governess had ventured to hope. Charlotte was marvellously docile and attentive, though evidently totally unaccustomed to anything like regular study. The secret of her good behaviour transpired in the course of the morning, when the children informed Miss Freer that if they were very obedient and industrious at lessons up to Thursday week—which happened to be Sibyl’s birthday—on that day the Berlet expedition was to take place, on a much grander scale than had been originally contemplate.
“And you are to come, Miss Freer, and that lady where you live,” said little Sybil, launching out into such enthusiastic descriptions of all they should do and see, that Marion was obliged to remind her that by too much talking in school-hours they might be in danger of breaking their grandmother’s condition.
“Little girls can’t he industrious at lessons if they’re thinking of birthday treats all the time, you know, Sybil.”
So the child dutifully set to work again, labouring hard at words of two syllables, which was the stage she had reached in her spelling-book. She was very ignorant for ten years old; and, indeed, the little she did know, had been imperfectly and irregularly acquired. She was naturally slow, though by no means stupid. There were strange, fitful gleams of decided originality about her; a delicacy of perception, and an almost morbid sensitiveness, which would have suffered terribly in the hands of many teachers. But Marion, though herself so young and inexperienced, understood the child instinctively. Still, the spelling-book was hard work, and but for the extreme docility of the pupil, and the patient gentleness of the teacher, would have been the cause of no little irritation to both.
Lotty was decidedly clever when she chose to exert, or rather, I should say, to concentrate her powers. Strong and healthy, quick-witted and warm-hearted, under good management, she promised to turn out a sensible and intelligent woman. But, hot-tempered and self-willed, fond of admiration and amusement, the risk to such a nature from injudicious training was far greater than to that of her little sister. That Lotty would develop rapidly for good or evil was evident. Sybil, on the contrary, might be stunted or withered, but would never run wild.
But they were both interesting children; and Marion was very happy this morning in the receipt of a grateful letter from Harry. A letter which cheered her about him in every way. He had “had a good lesson,” he said, but, thanks to her, had incurred no disgrace; and he begged her to believe that never again would he cause her such sorrow and anxiety. “I won’t make grand promises,” he wrote, “but I think the future will show that I mean what I say. I shall always feel that but for you, dear May, my whole life might have been spoilt. As you ask me not to tease about where you got the money I won’t do so, but I do trust it has not greatly inconvenienced or harassed you.”
So the morning’s studies passed off prosperously, and Marion wrote on two slips of paper her report of her pupils for Lady Severn’s edification.
“Charlotte: obedient and attentive.”
“Sybil; very painstaking.”