“Oh, yes, but it is, though,” said Joanna. “I know better--you like people to come to Melmar as well as Patricia does--and Patricia never can be very good for any thing. She canna draw, though she pretends--and she canna play, and she canna sing, and I could even dance better myself. It’s aye like lessons to see her and hear her--and nobody cares to come to see mamma--it’s no’ her fault, for she’s always in bed or on the sofa; but if _I_ like to learn--do you hear, papa?--and I would like if Desirée was here--_I_ know what Melmar might be!” It was rather odd to look at Joanna, with her long, angular, girl’s figure, her red hair, and her bearing which promised nothing so little as the furthest off approach to elegance, and to listen to the confidence and boldness of this self-assertion--even her father laughed--but, perhaps because he was her father, did not fully perceive the grotesque contrast between her appearance and her words; on the contrary, Melmar was considerably impressed with these last, and put faith in them, a great deal more faith than he had ever put in Patricia’s prettiness and gentility, cultivated as these had been in the refined atmosphere of the Clapham school. “You are a vain little blockhead, Joan,” said Mr. Huntley, “which I scarcely looked for--but it’s in the nature of woman. When Aunt Jean leaves you her fortune, we’ll see what a grand figure you’ll make in the country. A French governess, forsooth! the bairn’s crazy. I’ll get her to teach _me_.” “She could teach you a great many things, papa,” said Joanna, with gravity, “so you need not laugh. I’m going to write to her this moment, and say she’s to come here--and you’re to write to Mrs. Payne and tell her what you’ll give, and how she’s to come, and every thing. Desirée is not pleased with Mrs. Payne.” “What a pity!” said Melmar, laughing; “and possibly, Joan--you ought to consider--Desirée might not be pleased with me.” “You are kind whiles--when you like, papa,” said Joanna, taking this possibility into serious consideration, and fixing her sharp black eyes upon her father, with half an entreaty, half a defiance. Somehow this appeal, which he did not expect, was quite a stroke of victory, and silenced Melmar. He laughed once more in his loud and not very mirthful fashion, and the end of the odd colloquy was, that Joanna conquered, and that, to the utter amazement of mother, sister, and Aunt Jean, the approaching advent of a French governess for Joanna became a recognized event in the house. Patricia spent one good long summer afternoon crying over it. “No one ever thought of getting a governess for me!” sobbed Patricia, through a deluge of spiteful tears. And Aunt Jean put up her spectacles from her eyes, and listened to the news which Joanna shouted into her ear, and shook her head.