“Did not she speak to you about it?” asked Mrs. Bradshaw, looking up.

“No.  Why should she?  She has no right to criticise what I do.  She would not be so impertinent,” said Jemima, feeling very uncomfortable and suspicious.

“Yes, love! she would have had a right, for papa had desired her to do it.”

“Papa desired her!  What do you mean, mamma?”

“Oh dear!  I dare say I should not have told you,” said Mrs. Bradshaw, perceiving, from Jemima’s tone of voice, that something had gone wrong.  “Only you spoke as if it would be impertinent in Mrs. Denbigh, and I am sure she would not do anything that was impertinent.  You know, it would be but right for her to do what papa told her; and he said a great deal to her, the other day, about finding out why you were so cross, and bringing you right.  And you are right now, dear!” said Mrs. Bradshaw soothingly, thinking that Jemima was annoyed (like a good child) at the recollection of how naughty she had been.

“Then papa is going to give Mrs. Denbigh a gown because I was civil to Mr. Farquhar last night?”

“Yes, dear!” said Mrs. Bradshaw, more and more frightened at Jemima’s angry manner of speaking—­low-toned, but very indignant.

Jemima remembered, with smouldered anger, Ruth’s pleading way of wiling her from her sullenness the night before.  Management everywhere! but in this case it was peculiarly revolting; so much so, that she could hardly bear to believe that the seemingly transparent Ruth had lent herself to it.

“Are you sure, mamma, that papa asked Mrs. Denbigh to make me behave differently?  It seems so strange.”

“I am quite sure.  He spoke to her last Friday morning in the study.  I remember it was Friday, because Mrs. Dean was working here.”

Jemima remembered now that she had gone into the schoolroom on the Friday, and found her sisters lounging about, and wondering what papa could possibly want with Mrs. Denbigh.

After this conversation Jemima repulsed all Ruth’s timid efforts to ascertain the cause of her disturbance, and to help her if she could.  Ruth’s tender, sympathising manner, as she saw Jemima daily looking more wretched, was distasteful to the latter in the highest degree.  She could not say that Mrs. Denbigh’s conduct was positively wrong—­it might even be quite right; but it was inexpressibly repugnant to her to think of her father consulting with a stranger (a week ago she almost considered Ruth as a sister) how to manage his daughter, so as to obtain the end he wished for; yes, even if that end was for her own good.