"Lady Jemima," said I, feeling my cheeks flush in spite of me, "I know not why you call me a Puritan. I am an unworthy but faithful member of the Church of England. I love her ways, and desire her peace above all things; and whoever has told you to the contrary hath said falsely. Felicia was ever mine enemy, and hath made me all the trouble I have ever had in life, heretofore; and I believe she will not be content till she works my ruin." "You misjudge her much, and with great want of charity," interrupted Lady Jemima. "She desires naught but your good, and 'twas to that end she spoke to me about you, beseeching me to have an eye to you, that you did not get into mischief, or make mischief for others. 'Tis you who have injured her. As for her, I believe she would not hurt a fly." "I have known her nearly eighteen years, and your Ladyship not as many weeks," said I. "Which hath had the best opportunity of understanding her character?" "I am not apt to be deceived in my estimate of character," answered Lady Jemima, stiffly. "I said to myself the first time I ever saw you, 'Here is one destined to make mischief,' and so you did, causing a misunderstanding between me and my sister the very first day you were in the house. But this is unprofitable," she added, catching herself up. "If you have no more to say, Mrs. Merton, I must pray you to retire, and leave me to my devotions." "I will do so," I answered, "first taking the liberty to tell your Ladyship a rule given me by my Lord the Bishop of Exeter, at my coming to this place: 'Never to do anything upon which you cannot ask the blessing of God.' Doubtless your Ladyship will ask His blessing on your attempts to undermine and defame an orphan girl, who is striving with all her might to do her duty in that station to which it hath pleased God to call her." So saying, I courtesied and shut the door. I thought she would have called me back, but she did not, and I returned to my room, feeling grieved, vexed, and discouraged, yet withal a little disposed to laugh. "Flirt with Mr. Penrose!" quoth I. "I would as soon flirt with that red, yellow, and blue Saint Austin in the chapel window. How can she be so absurd!" _July 24._ It seems I did not improve matters by my appeal to Lady Jemima. She will hardly speak to me at all now, and I know she doth not cease to prejudice others against me. Even Mrs. Judith grows rather cool, or so I fancy, at least; only my Lady is just the same. I should not say only, for Mr. Penrose is even kinder than ever, and Mrs. Corbet and her son treat me with as much consideration as though I were a relation of the family. But I can't help feeling the change very much, for I was fond of Lady Jemima, though I used sometimes to be vexed with her meddling ways. Besides, I "know" that I have done my best since I came here, and any one may see how much the child has gained.