ttle
Madame Blanchard had chirped to her in Parisian accent for the hour
together over _les modes_ and _le beau Paris_. Sara had danced and
drilled with the other young ladies at Miss Dugald's select
establishment, and had joined them at the riding-school or in the
cavalcade under Captain Cooper.

Sara had worn her bondage lightly, and had fascinated even grim old Herr
Schliefer. Her tact and easy adaptability had kept Fraeulein Sonnenschein
in a state of tepid good-humour. Every one, even cross old Draper,
idolised Sara for her beauty and sprightly ways. When Aunt Philippa
declared her education finished, she tripped out of the schoolroom as
happily as possible to take possession of her grand new bedroom and the
little boudoir, where all her girlish treasures were arranged. She had
not been the least impatient for her day of freedom: it would all come in
good time. When the sceptre was put into her hands and her sovereignty
acknowledged by the whole household, the young princess was not a bit
excited. She put on her court dress and made her courtesy to her majesty
with the same charming unconsciousness and ease of manner. No wonder
people were charmed with such good-humour and freshness. If the glossy
hair did not cover a large amount of brains, no one found fault with her
for that.

Jill raged and stormed fiercely under Sara's light-hearted philosophy;
when her sister told her to be patient under Fraeulein's yoke, that a good
time was coming for her also, when lesson-books would be shut up, and
Herr Schliefer would cease to scatter snuff on the carpet as he sat
drumming with his fingers on the keyboard and grunting out brief
interjections of impatience.

'What does it matter about Herr Schliefer?' Jill would say, in a sort of
fury. 'I like him a hundred times better than I do that mincing little
poll-parrot of a Madame Blanchard: she is odious, and I hate her, and I
hate Fraeulein too. It is not the lessons I mind; one has to learn lessons
all one's life; it is being shut up like a bird in a cage when one's
wings are ready for flight. I should like to fly away from this room,
from Fraeulein, from the whole of the horrid set; it makes me cross,
wicked, to live like this, and all your sugar-plums will do me no good.
Go away, Sara; you do not understand as Ursula does, it makes me feel bad
to see you standing there, looking so pretty and happy, and just laughing
at me.'

'Of course I laugh at you, Jocelyn, when you