"Marion just wants me to spend the whole evening reading to her," said Rhoda to herself as she went up stairs. She knew she was unjust and that Marion was right, but in her present frame of mind, she found a certain comfort in blaming everybody. "I don't know but she is right though, about leaving off the music; only this piece is so lovely. Oh, I must finish it, and then I won't touch the piano again. Oh dear! It is too bad." Rhoda's eyes overflowed again; she checked her tears as soon as she could, and tried to bathe away their traces, but this was never easy. Crying gave her a wretched headache, and made her usually fine complexion look pale and sallow. Mr. Ferrand, who was not deficient in kind feeling when his system was not in the way, remarked to his wife that the young person was not looking well. "You had better see that she diets and bathes properly," said he. "Young persons of her class—and indeed of every class—are apt to be careless about such matters." Rhoda heard the remark, and it brought a new sting to her conscience. She tried to drive it out by resentment at being called a young person, but it stayed all the same. "Now, Isabella, be faithful in your practising," said Mr. Ferrand as he set out for his customary lecture in the evening. "Mr. Harvey tells me that you are improving, and I am very glad to hear it." "Then, pa, if you want me to improve still more, you must let me practise in the parlour, or else get a new piano for the school-room," said Isa, casting a glance of triumph at Rhoda. "Mr. Harvey says himself that school-room piano won't keep in tune five minutes." "I think that must be an exaggeration," remarked Mr. Ferrand. "I should not suppose any instrument would become disordered in so short a time as five minutes. However, I will speak to Mr. Harvey on the subject; and if he thinks it desirable, I will request him to procure a proper instrument. Meantime, as you will not be subject to interruption from company this evening, you may practise in the drawing-room." "Are ye going at it again?" said Marion as Rhoda turned toward the drawing-room after putting her dishes away. "Only this once," answered Rhoda; "and then, Marion, I'll read to you all you like." "It's not for myself I spoke," said Marion, justly offended. "But take your own gait. I'll say no more. If a wilful man must have his way, the byword is doubly true of a wilful lass." "Oh, please don't be vexed, Marion," exclaimed Rhoda, ashamed of the words the moment they were spoken. "I didn't mean anything. Just come and hear me play this one piece, and I'll sing all the Scotch songs I know for you." But Marion had "got her Scotch up." She retreated to her kitchen; and shutting the doors between, she sat down to her knitting. Meantime, Rhoda played piece after piece, excusing herself for taking up all the time by the thought that she should never touch the piano again.