could not make the dog hate me by cruel treatment; and she would not propitiate him by kindness.
However, while I thus sat, working away at my pencil, Mrs. Murray came, half-sailing, half bustling, into the room.
"Miss Grey," she began,—"Dear! how can you sit at your drawing such a day as this?" (she thought I was doing it for my own pleasure) "I wonder you don't put on your bonnet and go out with the young ladies."
"I think, ma'am Miss Murray is reading; and Miss Matilda is amusing herself with her dogs."
"If you would try to amuse Miss Matilda yourself a little more, I think she would not be driven to seek amusement in the companionship of dogs and horses, and grooms, so much as she is; and if you would be a little more cheerful and conversable with Miss Murray, she would not so often go wandering in the fields with a book in her hand. However, I don't want to vex you," added she, seeing I suppose, that my cheeks burned and my hand trembled with some unamiable emotion. "Do, pray, try not to be so touchy!—there's no speaking to you else. And tell me if you
