If he had been less absorbed in his own interests, he might have remembered that mere gossip is not always to be despised. It has worked fatal mischief in its time. CHAPTER XXVIII. FRANCINE. “You’re surprised to see me, of course?” Saluting Emily in those terms, Francine looked round the parlor with an air of satirical curiosity. “Dear me, what a little place to live in!” “What brings you to London?” Emily inquired. “You ought to know, my dear, without asking. Why did I try to make friends with you at school? And why have I been trying ever since? Because I hate you--I mean because I can’t resist you--no! I mean because I hate myself for liking you. Oh, never mind my reasons. I insisted on going to London with Miss Ladd--when that horrid woman announced that she had an appointment with her lawyer. I said, ‘I want to see Emily.’ ‘Emily doesn’t like you.’ ‘I don’t care whether she likes me or not; I want to see her.’ That’s the way we snap at each other, and that’s how I always carry my point. Here I am, till my duenna finishes her business and fetches me. What a prospect for You! Have you got any cold meat in the house? I’m not a glutton, like Cecilia--but I’m afraid I shall want some lunch.” “Don’t talk in that way, Francine!” “Do you mean to say you’re glad to see me?” “If you were only a little less hard and bitter, I should always be glad to see you.” “You darling! (excuse my impetuosity). What are you looking at? My new dress? Do you envy me?” “No; I admire the color--that’s all.” Francine rose, and shook out her dress, and showed it from every point of view. “See how it’s made: Paris, of course! Money, my dear; money will do anything--except making one learn one’s lessons.” “Are you not getting on any better, Francine?” “Worse, my sweet friend--worse. One of the masters, I am happy to say, has flatly refused to teach me any longer. ‘Pupils without brains I am accustomed to,’ he said in his broken English; ‘but a pupil with no heart is beyond my endurance.’ Ha! ha! the mouldy old refugee has an eye for character, though. No heart--there I am, described in two words.” “And proud of it,” Emily remarked. “Yes--proud of it. Stop! let me do myself justice. You consider tears a sign that one has some heart, don’t you? I was very near crying last Sunday. A popular preacher did it; no less a person that Mr. Mirabel--you look as if you had heard of him.” “I have heard of him from Cecilia.”