would not be pleased to have her do. And though she was unaware of it,
her everyday behavior was exactly what that silent man had so ordered.
She did not know there was a God because the Major was an atheist--who
out-Ingersolled Robert G. in the violence of his denial of deity. She
did not know there was a world of reality outside the garden because
he did not choose to have her mingle with that world. She was not
taught French because he vowed he hated France and the French and all
their ways. She was taught to curtsy and to dance because it pleased
him to have a woman walk well and he believed dancing kept the figure
supple. She was taught needlework because he thought it seemly for a
woman to sew and he liked the line of the head and neck bent over an
embroidery frame. She was taught to knit because he remembered that
his mother had told him that delicate finger tips were daintily
polished by an hour's knitting a day. He was--though he wouldn't have
admitted it--proud of her slender hands--they looked exactly as his
wife's had looked. It was the only trait she had inherited from that
particular ancestor and he had been inordinately vain of his wife's
hands. Mademoiselle had been ordered never to let the child "spread
her hand by opening door knobs or touching the fire-stones--or--er--
any clumsy thing--" and it was droll to see the little girl, digging
in her bit of garden with those lovely hands incased in long flopping
cotton gloves--not to forget the broad sunbonnet that shaded her
earnest little face. In short, he was jealous of her complexion and
her manners--But beyond that and the desire that she absolutely efface
herself, he did not concern himself with his granddaughter.

It was really her mother's gentle tact that fostered love for the
stern old man. While Felice was still young, Octavia began to teach
her child pride of race. The pretty invalid was pathetically eager to
have Felice impressed with the dignity of Major Trenton's family.