know nothing, do nothing, see nothing, but
just what suits his pleasure and convenience; and in order to answer
to his requirements you must be either a hypocrite, or a blind worm
without eyes or intelligence. Men don't like innocence because it's
holy, but because it whets their appetites, my sister says, and if
they're deceived it serves them right. They work the world for their
own pleasure, not ours; and we must look out for ourselves. If we want
money, liberty, devotion, admiration, and any other luxury, we must
pretend. Don't you see?"

"I don't know," Beth rejoined. "But, personally, I shall never pretend
anything."

"Then you will suffer for your sincerity," Geraldine rejoined.

Beth shrugged her shoulders. The turn the conversation had taken was
distasteful to her, and she would not pursue it.

There was a pause, then Clara observed sententiously:

"Innocence is not impossible, Geraldine. Surely Adelaide is innocent
enough."

"I said innocence and intelligence were incompatible," Geraldine
answered. "You don't call Adelaide intelligent, do you?"

"Who is Adelaide?" Beth asked.

"The daughter of a Roman Catholic peer," Geraldine replied. "She is
eighteen, and her mind is absolutely undeveloped. We think she's in
training for a convent, and that's why they don't let her learn much.
Miss Ella Blackburne is a Roman Catholic, and so also is Adelaide's
maid; They trot her round to all the observances of her Church
regularly, and in the intervals she plays with the kitten. I don't
know why she should have been sent here at all, for this is a regular
forcing-house for the marriage market. Miss Blackburne expects all her
girls to marry well, and they generally do. I should think, Miss Beth,
she will be able to make something of you with those eyes!"

"Look at its neck and shoulders, too, and the way its head is set on
them!" Clara exclaimed.

"Not to mention its hands and its complexion!" Geraldine supplemented.
"But its voice alone--_soft, gentle, and low_--would get it into the
peerage!"

Beth, unused to be appraised in this way, blushed and smiled, rather
pleased, but confused.

"How many girls are there here?" she asked, to change the subject.

"Six boarders till you came, but now we are seven," Clara answered.
"There are some day-girls too, but they are children, and don't count.
The greatest pickle in the school is the daughter of an Archbishop--at
least, she has been the greatest pickle so far--w