ged now of right to Barbara, and were given to her.

But now Barbara, although she pressed Madame Vine to remain at East
Lynne, and indeed would have been glad that she should do so, did not
take her refusal at heart. Barbara could not fail to perceive that she
was a thoroughly refined gentlewoman, far superior to the generality of
governesses. That she was truly fond of Lucy, and most anxious for her
welfare in every way, Barbara also saw. For Lucy's sake, therefore, she
would be grieved to part with Madame Vine, and would raise her salary
to anything in reason, if she would but stay. But, on her own score,
Barbara had as soon Madame Vine went as not; for, in her heart of
hearts, she had never liked her. She could not have told why. Was it
instinct? Very probably. The birds of the air, the beasts of the field,
the fishes of the sea, have their instincts, and so does man have his.
Perhaps it was the unaccountable resemblance that Madame Vine bore to
Lady Isabel. A strange likeness! Barbara often thought, but whether
it lay in the face, the voice, or the manner, she could not decide. A
suspicion of the truth did not cross her mind. How should it? And she
never spoke of it; had the resemblance been to any one but Lady Isabel
she would have talked of it freely. Or, it may have been that there was
now and then a tone in Madame Vine's voice that grated on her ear; a
wrung, impatient tone, wanting in respect, savoring of hauteur, which
Barbara did not understand, and did not like. However it may have
been, certain it is that Mrs. Carlyle would not shed tears after the
governess. Only for Lucy's sake did she regret parting with her.

These different resemblances and reflections were separately passing
through the minds of the two ladies when their conference was over.
Madame Vine at length rose from her chair to depart.

"Would you mind holding my baby for one minute?" cried Barbara.

Madame Vine quite started.

"The baby there!" she uttered.

Barbara laughed.

"It is lying by my side, under the shawl, quiet little sleeping thing."

Madame Vine advanced and took the sleeping baby. How could she refuse?
She had never had it in her arms before; she had, in fact, scarcely seen
it. One visit of ceremony she had paid Mrs. Carlyle, as in politeness
bound, a day or two after the young lady's arrival, and had been shown a
little face, nearly covered with lace, in a cradle.

"Thank you. I can get up now. I might have half smot