She opened her large blue eyes, as if amazed at my interference, and then seemed disposed to laugh; but I said quite gravely—“No, no, we have no fighting here. If it is allowed at the Stone House, I don’t allow it in my parlour.” “It is not allowed at the Stone House, but they do it for all that!” burst forth Arbell, and then shut herself up again in rigid silence. Mademoiselle Foularde darted an indignant look at her, and then drew Flora towards her, fondling her, and saying— “_Ah, fi donc, Rosaline! Bonne petite Fleurette! comme je l’aime!_ I never saw her fight before, did I?” “How _can_ you say so!” muttered Arbell, and then sighed, and began to play with her little dog Shock. After this, the conversation rather flagged; but I showed the little ones some prints I was meaning to paste into a nursery picture-book; and when I had quite won their good-will, kissed them, and said, “You won’t fight again, will you?” Both said “No” very cordially; and Mademoiselle and I exchanged looks and smiled, and then I said, “I am sure you remember that pretty verse: “‘But, children, you should never let Such angry passions rise; Your little hands were never made To tear each other’s eyes!’ What _were_ they made for, hey?” Both gave me a quick look, but seemed at fault. “Why, to work, and to write, and to draw, and to paint pictures, and hold knives and forks, and spoons, and slices of plum-cake, and to give pence and sixpences to poor people, and a thousand other good and pleasant things. Will you remember?” Both smiled, and said “Yes;” and then I produced slices of the iced plum-cake Harry Prout had cut up, and told them to hand the plate first to Mademoiselle and Arbell, and then to help themselves. This produced general good humour and sociability, and, after the cake had been duly honoured, Mademoiselle rose to take leave, saying she feared they had stayed too long, but that it was so difficult to get away from _me_, I so charmingly blended instruction with entertainment, &c. &c. &c., which I might have liked better if I had not thought it rather exaggerated and insincere. I said to Arbell at parting, “I have seen and heard too little of you. What a treat it would be if you would spend a morning with me, and help me to make this picture-book.” Her face brightened directly, and she exclaimed, “Ah! I only wish I might!” But Mademoiselle interposed with something about Mrs. Pevensey’s wish that the school-room routine should suffer no interruption, with a little smile and shrug to me, as much as to say, “So, of course, we must obey;” and Arbell went away, looking as rigid and uncomfortable as at first, carrying Shock under her arm.