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 of faults at all. You would have it that such was the case, and I refrained from contradiction."

"What else did they denote?"

"No matter now."

"Mr. Moore, cried Henry, "make Shirley repeat some of the pieces she used to say so well by heart."

"If I ask for any, it will be 'Le Cheval Dompté, said Moore, trimming with his penknife the pencil Miss Keeldar had worn to a stump.

She turned aside her head; the neck, the clear cheek, forsaken by their natural veil, were seen to flush warm.

"Ah! she has not forgotten, you see, sir," said Henry, exultant. "She knows how naughty she was."

A smile, which Shirley would not permit to expand, made her lip tremble; she bent her face, and hid it half with her arms half in her curls, which, as she stooped, fell loose again.

"Certainly, I was a rebel!" she answered.

"A rebel!" repeated Henry. "Yes: you and papa had quarrelled terribly, and you set both him and mama, and Mrs. Pryor, and everybody, at defiance: you said he had insulted you"

"He had insulted me," interposed Shirley.

"And you wanted to leave Sympson Grove directly. You packed your things up, and papa threw them out of your trunk; mama cried—Mrs. Pryor cried; they both stood wringing their hands