“No. They slept badly—lost appetite—started at trifling noises. In short, their nerves were out of order.”
“Did they get well again at home, in another air?”
“Not a doubt of it,” he answered, beginning to get weary of the subject. “May I look at your books?”
Francine’s interest in the influence of different atmospheres on health was not exhausted yet. “Do you know where the girls lived when they were at home?” she inquired.
“I know where one of them lived. She was the best pupil I ever had—and I remember she lived in Yorkshire.” He was so weary of the idle curiosity—as it appeared to him—which persisted in asking trifling questions, that he left his seat, and crossed the room. “May I look at your books?” he repeated.
“Oh, yes!”
The conversation was suspended for a while. The lady thought, “I should like to box his ears!” The gentleman thought, “She’s only an inquisitive fool after all!” His examination of her books confirmed him in the delusion that there was really nothing in Francine’s character which rendered it necessary to caution Emily against the advances of her new friend. Turning away from the book-case, he made the first excuse that occurred to him for putting an end to the interview.
“I must beg you to let me return to my duties, Miss de Sor. I have to correct the young ladies’ drawings, before they begin again to-morrow.”
Francine’s wounded vanity made a last expiring attempt to steal the heart of Emily’s lover.
“You remind me that I have a favor to ask,” she said. “I don’t attend the other classes—but I should so like to join your class! May I?” She looked up at him with a languishing appearance of entreaty which sorely tried Alban’s capacity to keep his face in serious order. He acknowledged the compliment paid to him in studiously commonplace terms, and got a little nearer to the open window. Francine’s obstinacy was not conquered yet.