What Nurse in England could be expected to enter into so philosophical an investigation of the habits of society?

Hermione’s did nothing but assure her it was time to be off, and she only hoped she would sit still and talk prettily, and never trouble her head whether it was stupid or not.

When Hermione got into the drawing room and saw the company seated as she had described to her Nurse, she felt very much disposed to laugh again, but made an effort and composed herself.  Still her face was beaming with mirth and fun, and when some ladies said “What a happy looking little girl,” they were quite sincere.  That sort of face too worked wonders, and her Mamma’s friends liked her much and talked pleasantly to her, and she was pleased and happy and quite forgot the ball of worsted, as well as the ladies’ white kid gloves.  A young lady however who had her arm round Hermione’s waist and was playing with her, suddenly felt the round protuberance in her pocket.  “Ah you little rogue, what have you here?” “Its a secret,” cried Hermione.  “I think I can unravel your mysterious secret, little girl, you are a favourite with the housekeeper,” added she, whispering in Hermione’s ear, “and she has just given you an orange.”

“You are a very bad guesser of secrets,” whispered Hermione in return.  “It’s no such thing!”—­“Then it’s an apple.”  “No, nor an apple.”—­“Then it’s a peach, and your new frock will be spoilt.”  “No it isn’t a peach either, and it’s a secret.”  The young lady loved fun, and a playful struggle ensued between her and Hermione; in the course of which the large grey worsted ball and its long ravelled tail were drawn from the little pocket.

Hermione had now to tell the history of the ball, which she did naturally and honestly, but when she added, quite seriously, that she intended, when they had done talking to her, to go behind her Mamma’s chair and finish winding it up, you may guess how they laughed.

“Come here, my little dear, and let me look at you,” cried an elderly lady in spectacles, putting out her hand and laying hold of Hermione’s.  “Why what an industrious little soul you must be! a perfect pattern!  There now! you may go behind my chair and finish your ball of worsted; nobody wants to talk to you any longer.”

This old lady was rather crabbed, and had not quite believed Hermione sincere, so she did this to try her, and expected to see her pout and refuse.  To her surprize, Hermione only said “Oh thank you, ma’am,” with a quite smiling face, and going behind the chair, sat down on the floor to her worsted.  For a few moments the old lady kept thinking “It won’t last long:  she’ll soon be glad of an excuse to come out:”  but no such thing happened; and just what Hermione expected did happen.  The ladies fell to talking among themselves, and in a very short time the presence of the little girl was quite forgotten, even by the old lady, who was handed out to dinner, without once remembering whom she had left behind her chair.