“The question is not what I, or any other person might do, but what _should be done_. A very able and excellent author—well known to your mother—John Foster, has said, ‘There is some one state of character, and plan of action, _the very best possible_, under all the circumstances of your age, measure of mental faculties, and means within your reach; the _one plan_ that will please God the most, and that will be the most pleasing to look back upon at the hour of death.’ Now, should not you aspire to ascertain what is that best possible course, and then most zealously devote yourself to its execution? I believe you to be capable of it.” Arbell looked full of high and generous resolve. “If mamma had said this to me,” exclaimed she, at length, “I should have been capable of it long ago.” “Perhaps you have never spoken to her on the subject with the openness with which you have now spoken to me.” “I have never had the opportunity. However, I will not dwell any more on that. What is the one best course now for me?” “There need be no marked change in outward performances: only in their spirit. Your mother loves you dearly, but she is too busy to attend to all your little troubles. Do you be too busy for them too! Take an intelligent interest in whatever you are about, be it French, or German, or anything else; and if interrupted in it, and your attention distracted by what is being said to nurse, housekeeper, or gardener,—take an intelligent interest in that too! Think, ‘Ha, here is something worth remembering!’ treasure it, note it, commit it to memory, bear it in mind, lay it to heart; and then return with fresh eagerness to the matter in hand.” “It sounds well,” said Arbell, thoughtfully; “I’ll try.” “And if you cannot get others to sympathize with you, why, sympathize with _them_. It is easy to say, ‘I can’t; their tastes and feelings are so different.’ So are yours from theirs, and yet you expect them to sympathize with _you_. Don’t get into the way of feeling isolated. Robinson Crusoe really _was_ so, and did not find it very comfortable, in spite of his pretty plantations and snug cave. If you plant yourself on a little island, and break down the bridge to it, you must not expect people to be at the trouble of fetching a boat. Besides, you perhaps seek sympathy at unseasonable times. Your father, in the midst of some profound calculation, would hardly like your mother to come in and claim his attention to some sentimental sorrow: she thought he had looked coldly at her on such and such an occasion; or could hardly have been aware, such another time, that she felt low and unwell.” “No, indeed,” said Arbell, laughing. “Nor must you expect Mrs. Pevensey to have leisure or relish for such ill-timed appeals from yourself. Be intent on forming a noble character; and you will be sure to find that character appreciated in after-life.” “Ha!” “You will try, will you not?” “I will! if only Mademoiselle——”