disappointment she could not avert from her spoiled darling.

"Bluebell," said Miss Opie, "if you read more and scampered about less,
your mind would be better fortified to bear these little reverses."

"Shut up!" muttered Bluebell, in the artless vernacular of a school-girl,
half turning her shoulder with an impatient gesture.

The entrance of the tea-things created a diversion, but the discontented
girl sat apart, while the hideousness of her surroundings came upon her
as a new revelation. Certainly, in Canada, in a poverty-stricken abode,
taste seems more completely starved than in any other country.

Bluebell, in her critical mood, noted the ugly delf tea-things, so badly
arranged; the black stove, four feet into the room, with its pipe running
through a hole in the wall; the ricketty horsehair chairs and wire blind
for the window, "gave" on the street, where gasping geese were diving in
the gutters for the nearest approach to water they could find.

Scarcely less repugnant were the many-coloured crotchet-mats and
anti-macassars with which Miss Opie loved to decorate the apartment; nor
was a paper frill adorning a paltry green flower-vase wanting to complete
the tasteless _tout ensemble_.

The evening wore on; Mrs. Leigh proceeded with the turning of an old
merino dress; Miss Opie adjusted her spectacles, and read _Good Words_.
Bluebell sat down to the piano and executed a selection from Rossini's
'Messe Solennelle' with force and fervour.

"You play very well, child," said Miss Opie.