rtunities of knowing me. She sees that I
have education, intelligence, manner, principles--all, in short, which
belongs to a person well born and well bred."

"Are you at all fond of her?"

"For _fond_ I cannot say. I am not one who is prone to take violent
fancies, and, consequently, my friendship is the more to be depended on.
I have a regard for her as my relative; her position also inspires
interest, and her conduct as my pupil has hitherto been such as rather
to enhance than diminish the attachment that springs from other causes."

"She behaves pretty well at lessons?"

"To _me_ she behaves very well; but you are conscious, brother, that I
have a manner calculated to repel over-familiarity, to win esteem, and
to command respect. Yet, possessed of penetration, I perceive clearly
that Caroline is not perfect, that there is much to be desired in her."

"Give me a last cup of coffee, and while I am drinking it amuse me with
an account of her faults."

"Dear brother, I am happy to see you eat your breakfast with relish,
after the fatiguing night you have passed. Caroline, then, is defective;
but with my forming hand and almost motherly care she may improve. There
is about her an occasional something--a reserve, I think--which I do not
quite like, because it is not sufficiently girlish and submissive; and
there are glimpses of an unsettled hurry in her nature, which put me
out. Yet she is usually most tranquil, too dejected and thoughtful
indeed sometimes. In time, I doubt not, I shall make her uniformly
sedate and decorous, without being unaccountably pensive. I ever
disapprove what is not intelligible."

"I don't understand your account in the least. What do you mean by
'unsettled hurries,' for instance?"

"An example will, perhaps, be the most satisfactory explanation. I
sometimes, you are aware, make her read French poetry by way of
practice in pronunciation. She has in the course of her lessons gone
through much of Corneille and Racine, in a very steady, sober spirit,
such as I approve. Occasionally she showed, indeed, a degree of languor
in the perusal of those esteemed authors, partaking rather of apathy
than sobriety; and apathy is what I cannot tolerate in those who have
the benefit of my instructions--besides, one should not be apathetic in
studying standard works. The other day I put into her hands a volume of
short fugitive pieces. I sent her to the window to learn one by heart,
and when I looked up