Emilie hesitated. Did she remember the time when Miss Webster, indignant
at Emilie for being a fortnight behind-hand in her weekly rent, refused
to lend a sofa for her dying father, without extra pay? Did she recall
the ill-made slops, the wretched attendance to which this selfish woman
treated them during the pressure of poverty and distress? Emilie was
human, and she remembered all. She knew, moreover, that Miss Webster
would make a gain of her instrument, and that it might suffer from six
weeks' rough use. She stood twisting some straw plait that lay on the
counter, in her fingers, and then coolly saying she would consider of
it, walked out of the shop with Edith, her bosom swelling with
conflicting feelings. The slight had been to her _father_--to her dear
dead father--she could not love Miss Webster, nor respect her--she could
not oblige her. She felt so now, however, and despised the meanness of
the lodging-house keeper, in making the request.

Edith was by her side in good spirits, though she was to miss the London
journey. Not every young lady would be so content to remain all the
holiday-time with the governess; but Edith loved her governess. Happy
governess, to be loved by her pupil!

Mrs. Parker received Emilie very kindly: she was satisfied that her
dear child would be happy in her absence, and she knew enough of Emilie,
she said, to believe that she would see that Mr. Parker had his meals
regularly and nicely served, and that the servants did not rob or run
away, or the boys put their dirty feet on the sofa, or bright fender
tops, or lead Edith into mischief; in short, the things that Emilie was
to see to were so numerous, that it would have required more eyes than
she possessed, and far more vigilance and experience than she lay claim
to, to fulfill all Mrs. Parker's desires.