“Armie, I heartily wish that there were no necessity for parting with you at all, but you have given me and your mother such cause for anxiety, and such pain, that we have concluded together that it is best for you and us to be separated for a while. You, I have said, give me pain, especially now at a time when I am worried by external troubles. I cannot force you to go to your aunt’s, nor force you to remain there longer than you choose, but you know my intentions, and they are for your good, and our own relief.” “Am I such an annoyance to you?” asked Arminell, in a subdued tone. “Of course, with your waywardness, and open defiance of our authority, you are. You have made me—let alone my lady—very unhappy. You have set yourself up to disagree with us at every point, to run counter to all our wishes, and to take up with persons with whom we disapprove of your associating.” “I give you pain, papa?” “Very much pain indeed.” “And you think it would make you happier if I left Orleigh, and that it would also be better for me?” “I do, indeed.” “And six months, you suppose, will cure me of my wilfulness?” “I do not say that; that depends on yourself.” “Anyhow, for six months you will have ease of mind if I am away from you, and in good hands?” “In good hands, certainly. Hermione’s house is a very suitable school. You will there be brought to understand that deference is due to your superiors, consideration for the feelings of others, respect for opinions that differ from your own, and especially that regard is to be had for _les convenances_, without which social life would go to pieces, as a chain of pearls that has lost its connecting links. _Les convenances_ may be, and indeed are, in themselves nothing, but they hold society together. You have been left too much to yourself or with unsatisfactory governesses. You must be taught your proper place. You must go into the stream of social life, and feel the current and its irresistible force.” “Very well, papa, I will go.” “Your aunt will be sure to write to-day; we shall have a letter to-morrow.” Arminell said nothing. Her brows were knit and her lips set. “I am sorry we have to give up the trip to Switzerland; it might have been pleasant, had we been all together, but I must deny myself that. The Irish property has brought in nothing; and I have lost money in other ways; now I must set the men to work on the new road—that is, if they will condescend to make it.” On reaching the house, Lord Lamerton went at once to the drawing-room, and caught his wife dozing over a magazine. He put his hand on her shoulder, and said, “Julia!” She started, and dropped her book. “Oh, you are back at last! Have you had anything to eat?” “More than I am able to digest, my dear.” “How did the speech succeed? You remembered Langland’s date, I hope?”