Hetty had sufficient good sense to know all this without being told. Her
peculiar experiences had sharpened her reasoning faculties and made her
keenly observant of what passed before her, and had also given her an
unusually acute perception of the meanings and influences floating in
the atmosphere about her from other people's thoughts and words. Child
as she was, she was able to take, for a moment, Mrs. Enderby's view of
her own position, and admitted that the kind yet cold lady had acted
justly in depriving her of useless things. Yet her wilful heart longed
for the prettinesses that she loved, and she wept herself to sleep
grieving for their loss, and for the greater loss which it typified.

The next morning her head was aching and her eyes redder than ever when
she appeared in the school-room, and she seemed more sullen and less
meek than she had been yesterday. She could not fix her mind on the
lesson Miss Davis gave her to learn, and made a great display of her
ignorance when questioned on general subjects. All this was not
improving to her spirits, and in becoming more unhappy she grew more
irritable. Miss Davis felt her patience tried by the troublesome new
pupil, and Phyllis eyed her with strong disapproval over the edges of
her book. Phyllis loved order, regularity, good conduct, and in her
opinion Hetty was an intolerably disagreeable interruption of the
routine of their school-room life.

That was a bad day altogether. Some friends of Mr. and Mrs. Enderby were
dining with them, and when the school-room tea was over Phyllis and Nell
told Miss Davis that their mother wished them to come to the
drawing-room for a short time. Hetty looked up, as she thought herself
included in the invitation; but Miss Davis, who had received general
instructions from Mrs. Enderby, said to her quietly: