We will peep at her supper table, and see if Miss Edith were quite right in supposing that Emilie Schomberg had nothing to put her out.

CHAPTER SECOND.

THE SOFT ANSWER.

An old lady was seated by a little ricketty round table, knitting; knitting very fast.  Surely she did not always knit so fast, Germans are great knitters it is true, but the needles made quite a noise—­click, click, click—­against one another.  The table was covered with a snow-white cloth.  By her side was a loaf called by bakers and housekeepers, crusty; the term might apply either to the loaf or the old lady’s temper.  A little piece of cheese stood on a clean plate, and a crab on another, a little pat of butter on a third, and this, with a jug of water, formed the preparation for the evening meal of the aunt and niece.  Emilie went up to her aunt, gaily, with her bunch of primroses in her hand, and addressing her in the German language, begged her pardon for keeping supper waiting.  The old lady knitted faster than ever, dropped a stitch, picked it up, looked out of the window, and cleared up, not her temper, but her throat; click, click went the needles, and Emilie looked concerned.

“Aunt, dear,” she said, “shall we sit down to supper?” “My appetite is gone, Emilie, I thank you.”  “I am really sorry, aunt, but you know you are so kind, you wish me to take plenty of exercise, and I was detained to-night.  Miss Parker and I stayed chattering to an old sailor.  It was very thoughtless, pray excuse me.  But now aunt, dear, see this fine crab, you like crabs; old Peter Varley sent it to you, the old man you knitted the guernsey for in the winter.”

No,—­old Miss Schomberg was not to be brought round.  Crabs were very heavy things at night, very indigestible things, she wondered at Emilie thinking she could eat them, so subject as she was to spasms, too.  Indeed she could eat no supper.  She was very dull and not well, so Emilie sat down to her solitary meal.  She did not go on worrying her aunt to eat, but she watched for a suitable opening, for the first indication indeed, of the clearing up for which she hoped, and though it must be confessed some such thoughts as “how cross and unreasonable aunt is,” did pass through her mind, she gave them no utterance.  Emilie’s mind was under good discipline, she had learned to forbear in love, and for the exercise of this virtue, she had abundant opportunity.

Poor Emilie! she had not always been a governess, subject to the trials of tuition; she had not always lived in a little lodging without the comforts and joys of family and social intercourse.