What could I say? I was disappointed, but I would not tell him so. I said I was surprised, as I did not know that the Doctor was away. So then we walked the rest of the way in silence. It seems we never can meet peaceably. I wanted to talk to him about his sermon, but of course I could not, after that. I do think he is very odd. _Monday, 28._ Lady Jemima has herself offered to carry a letter to my aunt, so I have written one to her, and one to Felicia—the latter as kind as I could make it. I am certainly glad that she has gone away, but yet I can see, now that we are separated, that I was often to blame in our quarrels. After I had finished my letters, I went to carry them to Lady Jemima's room, where I had never been before. It is very bare and plain—more so than mine—and looks, I fancy, like a nun's cell. She has several religious pictures, and many books of devotion, but none other, that I saw. Her bed looked hard, and as if it had very little covering upon it, and there was not even a rug by the bedside. Lady Jemima was looking over a great basket of work, not tapestry work, or any such thing, but coarse garments of various kinds. She made me welcome, and bade me sit down. "What are you busy about with your needle?" said she. I told her (what I forgot to mention in the right place) that I was making some clothes for the twins of the poor fisherman's widow down at the Cove, and that Lady Betty was helping me about them—adding that I was at work on a christening frock, for which my Lady had given me the material. She seemed pleased, but when I added that I liked the work because it made me think of home, she said, decidedly: "That is not a proper motive, child! You should do it because it is right, and because our Lord has commanded it—not because it gives you pleasure!" "But suppose it gives me pleasure to do what is right, my Lady?" said I. "Am I therefore to leave it off?" "That is a quibble!" said she, though I am sure I did not mean it so. "One must be arrived at a great degree of saintship to take pleasure in doing right because it is right. And if we only delight in it because of some pleasant remembrance, or pride in our own skill, there is no merit in it, whatever." Now I had never once thought of any merit in connection with my work for Mary Hawtree's twins. I know the babes needed the garments, and I thought, beside, that it would make a good healthy interest for poor Betty. However, the more I say, the less Lady Jemima understands me, so I held my peace. "I had hoped to leave you this work of mine to finish," continued Lady Jemima, "but you seem to have your hands full already. Do you think you could find time?" "I fear not, my Lady," I answered, after a little consideration. "You see the most of my time must be given, to Lady Betty, either in teaching or amusing her."