THEyoungAnglo-Swissevidentlyderivedbothpleasureandprofitfromthestudyofhermother-tongue.InteachingherIdidnot,ofcourse,confinemyselftotheordinaryschoolroutineImadeinstructioninEnglishachannelforinstructioninliterature.IprescribedtoheracourseofreadingshehadalittleselectionofEnglishclassics,afewofwhichhadbeenleftherbyhermother,andtheothersshehadpurchasedwithherownpenny-fee.Ilenthersomemoremodernworksalltheseshereadwithavidity,givingme,inwriting,aclearsummaryofeachworkwhenshehadperusedit.Composition,too,shedelightedin.Suchoccupationseemedtheverybreathofhernostrils,andsoonherimprovedproductionswrungfrommetheavowalthatthosequalitiesinherIhadtermedtasteandfancyoughtrathertohavebeendenominatedjudgmentandimagination.WhenIintimatedsomuch,whichIdidasusualindryandstintedphrase,IlookedfortheradiantandexultingsmilemyonewordofeulogyhadelicitedbeforebutFrancescoloured.Ifshedidsmile,itwasverysoftlyandshylyandinsteadoflookinguptomewithaconqueringglance,hereyesrestedonmyhand,which,stretchedoverhershoulder,waswritingsomedirectionswithapencilonthemarginofherbook.
“Well,areyoupleasedthatIamsatisfiedwithyourprogress?”Iasked.
“Yes,”saidsheslowly,gently,theblushthathadhalfsubsidedreturning.
“ButIdonotsayenough,Isuppose?”Icontinued.“Mypraisesaretoocool?”
Shemadenoanswer,and,Ithought,lookedalittlesad.Idivinedherthoughts,andshouldmuchhavelikedtohaverespondedtothem,haditbeenexpedientsotodo.Shewasnotnowveryambitiousofmyadmiration—noteagerlydesirousofdazzlingmealittleaffection—eversolittle—pleasedherbetterthanallthepanegyricsintheworld.Feelingthis,Istoodagoodwhilebehindher,writingonthemarginofherbook.Icouldhardlyquitmystationorrelinquishmyoccupationsomethingretainedmebendingthere,myheadverynearhers,andmyhandnearherstoobutthemarginofacopy-bookisnotanillimitablespace—so,doubtless,thedirectressthoughtandshetookoccasiontowalkpastinordertoascertainbywhatartIprolongedsodisproportionatelytheperiodnecessaryforfillingit.Iwasobligedtogo.Distastefuleffort—toleavewhatwemostprefer!
Francesdidnotbecomepaleorfeebleincon