“O, you sweet-tempered girl! how I love you,” said Cecilia, kissing her.

“Well then, if you do, come along with me, and dry your eyes, for they are so red.”

“Go, my dear, and I’ll come presently.”

“Then I will keep a place for you next to me; but you must make haste, or you will have to come in when we have all set down to supper, and then you will be so stared at!  So don’t stay now.”

Cecilia followed Louisa with her eyes till she was out of sight.  “And is Louisa,” said she to herself, “the only one who would stop to pity me?  Mrs. Villars told me that this day should be mine; she little thought how it would end!” Saying these words, Cecilia threw herself down upon the ground; her arm leaned upon a heap of turf which she had raised in the morning, and which in the pride and gayety of her heart, she had called her throne.

At this instant, Mrs. Villars came out to enjoy the serenity of the evening, and passing by the arbour where Cecilia lay, she started; Cecilia rose hastily.

“Who is there?” said Mrs. Villars.  “It is I, madam.”  “And who is I?” “Cecilia.”  “Why, what keeps you here, my dear—­where are your companions? this is, perhaps, one of the happiest days of your life.”

“O no, madam!” said Cecilia, hardly able to repress her tears.

“Why, my dear, what is the matter?”

Cecilia hesitated.

“Speak, my dear.  You know that when I ask you to tell me any thing as your friend, I never punish you as your governess; therefore you need not be afraid to tell me what is the matter.”

“No, madam, I am not afraid, but ashamed.  You asked me why I was not with my companions.  Why, madam, because they have all left me, and——­” “And what, my dear?” “And I see that they all dislike me.  And yet I don’t know why they should, for I take as much pains to please as any of them.  All my masters seem satisfied with me; and you yourself, ma’am, were pleased this very morning to give me this bracelet; and I am sure you would not have given it to any one who did not deserve it.”  “Certainly not.  You did deserve it for your application—­for your successful application.  The prize was for the most assiduous, not for the most amiable.”  “Then if it had been for the most amiable it would not have been for me?”

Mrs. Villars, smiling—­“Why, what do you think yourself, Cecilia?  You are better able to judge than I am.  I can determine whether or no you apply to what I give you to learn; whether you attend to what I desire you to do, and avoid what I desire you not to do.  I know that I like you as a pupil, but I cannot know that I should like you as a companion, unless I were your companion; therefore I must judge of what I should do by seeing what others do in the same circumstances.”