After hearing this explanation her daughter left the room without more words. In a few minutes she came down again with hat and gloves on, a book in her hand, and went away by herself, feeling far from happy in her mind. She had so confidently looked forward to a morning with her pupil, and had proposed to go somewhat further than she had ventured on the previous evening in a study of her character. For it seemed to her at first so simple a character, so affectionate and clinging, reflecting itself so transparently in her expressive face, and making itself known so clearly in her voice and manner. Then that mystifying change had occurred in the orchard, when her words had been eagerly listened to, and had seemed to find an echo in the girl's heart, while her advances had met with no response, and her affectionate caresses had been shrunk from, as though they had given pain. Then the suspicion about her mother had come to disturb her mind; but she had been anxious not to judge hastily and without sufficient cause, and had succeeded in putting it from her as an unworthy thought. Now it came back to her, and remained and rooted itself in her mind. Now she understood why her mother, with an ostentatious pretence of fairness, even of generosity, towards her daughter, had left it to Fan to decide whether she would walk in the woods or spend the morning receiving religious instruction at home. Now she understood why Fan, a lover of flowers and of the singing of birds, had preferred the house and the irksome lessons. Her mother, in her fanatical zeal, had been too quick for her, and had prejudiced the girl's mind against her, acting with a meanness and treachery which filled her with the greatest resentment and scorn.