“No, to be sure, you wouldn’t, because Louisa is your favourite. I can buy her another mandarin when the old peddler comes to the door, if that’s all. I _can_ do no more, _can_ I?” said she, again turning round to her companions. “No, to be sure,” said they; “that’s all fair.” Cecilia looked triumphantly at Leonora. Leonora let go her hand; she ran on, and the crowd followed. When she got to the end of the garden, she turned round to see if Leonora had followed her, too; but was vexed to see her still sitting on the steps with Louisa. “I’m sure I can do no more than buy her another, _can_ I!” said she, again appealing to her companions. “No, to be sure,” said they, eager to begin their play. How many games did these juvenile playmates begin and leave off, before Cecilia could be satisfied with any! Her thoughts were discomposed, and her mind was running upon something else. No wonder, then, that she did not play with her usual address. She grew still more impatient. She threw down the ninepins. “Come, let us play at something else—at threading the needle,” said she, holding out her hand. They all yielded to the hand which wore the bracelet. But Cecilia, dissatisfied with herself, was discontented with everybody else. Her tone grew more and more peremptory. One was too rude, another too stiff; one too slow, another too quick; in short everything went wrong, and everybody was tired of her humours. The triumph of _success_ is absolute, but short. Cecilia’s companions at length recollected that though she had embroidered a tulip, and painted a peach, better than they, yet that they could play as well, and keep their tempers better; for she was discomposed. Walking towards the house in a peevish mood, Cecilia met Leonora, but passed on. “Cecilia!” cried Leonora. “Well, what do you want with me?” “Are we friends?” “You know best,” said Cecilia. “We are, if you will let me tell Louisa that you are sorry—” Cecilia, interrupting her, “Oh, pray let me hear no more about Louisa!” “What! not confess that you were in the wrong? Oh, Cecilia! I had a better opinion of you.” “Your opinion is of no consequence to me now, for you don’t love me.” “No; not when you are unjust, Cecilia.” “Unjust! I am not unjust; and if I were, you are not my governess.” “No, but am not I your friend?” “I don’t desire to have such a friend, who would quarrel with me for happening to throw down little Louisa. How could I tell that she had a mandarin in her hand? and when it was broken, could I do more than promise her another; was that unjust?” “But you know, Cecilia—” “I _know_,” ironically. “I know, Leonora, that you love Louisa better than you love me; that’s the injustice!” “If I did,” replied Leonora, gravely, “it would be no injustice, if she deserved it better.” “How can you compare Louisa to me!” exclaimed Cecilia, indignantly.