slip through the gaps. The hardest thing was controlling my laughter as he ran past me. I have not thought to cut through the hedge in years, and it is likely that I am no longer small enough to do so.” She touched the petals of a rose, thinking of her father’s request that she wear roses, and then of the ball, where she would gladly have slipped through the walls. “I think I prefer your imaginings to my memories. This should be a place for lovers.”
“Mr. Vincent would like it, I think. It is so hard to tell what he likes and does not like, but I think that he is fond of seclusion, so a hidden garden would appeal to him. Do you not think so?”
“Perhaps. I know very little of him.” Jane winced, remembering the
tableau vivant
on the hill. “I am afraid that he does not care for me.”
“Oh, but that’s not true! He likes you very much.”
Surprized, Jane said, “Does he? It does not seem so to me. What has he said to make you think that he does?”
“
I
said that you were very talented, and he didn’t say that you
weren’t
—which might not seem like much to you, but to one who knows him, it is clear that he agreed, or he would have said otherwise. Oh, he is very droll like that. A look or a glance will be all he will allow of his thoughts, but to one who knows him, it is as if he had said a volume.”
Jane wondered that Miss Dunkirk would boast so of knowing him, almost as if they had the intimacy of family. “I must bow to your judgment, since I know so little of the man and you study with him.”
“He is such a wonderful teacher. Truly he is. Though I wish I had half the talent that you do.” Miss Dunkirk sighed and sat on the bench in the middle of the roses. “He is like my brother: They both think that the arts are the highest accomplishments and think little of people without those skills.”
A small hope flared in Jane’s breast that Mr. Dunkirk might learn of Melody’s deficiency in the matter of the arts, but she quashed it as ruthlessly as she could. Though she felt she would have been justified in exposing Melody after her trick the day before, Jane would not—she could not—bring herself to be anything less than virtuous with regards to Mr. Dunkirk if she had any hope of gaining his—
Jane reined in her thought there. No. She had no hope of that. She must remember herself and not be tempted by the idle thoughts of Mr. Dunkirk’s sister, who was, after all, very young and given to fancies.
“Now, I know you have spoken falsely, for your brother holds you in high regard.”
“Well, he is bound to! Mr. Vincent is not, but I begin to think that he likes me a little, because he is not so cross as when he first came. I have seen him once or twice almost smile at me when I did something right.”
“Ah. ‘Almost smiles’ are indeed something worth working for.”
“You may teaze me, but Mr. Vincent’s praise is more valuable for being rare.” Miss Dunkirk’s gaze turned inward, and her countenance darkened. “Teachers with quick praise are not to be trusted.”
Jane regarded her, wondering again what her history was that gave her periods of such darkness. These moods had become rarer as she and Miss Dunkirk had gotten to know each other, but some chance word or turn of phrase would still cast her spirits down from time to time. Jane wanted to bring her back to her former laughing self, so she said, “I have always thought that the least trustworthy teachers were the ones with tonics.”
A laugh broke out of Miss Dunkirk, restoring gaiety to her face. “I thank the heavens I have never had a tutor with tonics.”
At that point, Mr. Dunkirk and Melody finally reached the center of the maze. “There you are. We have been hearing your laughter, but could not find you. At least, I could not. I am certain that Miss Melody knew her way through the maze precisely.”
“It does not do to go too quickly to the heart, Mr. Dunkirk,” Melody said, her gaze cast downward,
“Mr. Vincent would like it, I think. It is so hard to tell what he likes and does not like, but I think that he is fond of seclusion, so a hidden garden would appeal to him. Do you not think so?”
“Perhaps. I know very little of him.” Jane winced, remembering the
tableau vivant
on the hill. “I am afraid that he does not care for me.”
“Oh, but that’s not true! He likes you very much.”
Surprized, Jane said, “Does he? It does not seem so to me. What has he said to make you think that he does?”
“
I
said that you were very talented, and he didn’t say that you
weren’t
—which might not seem like much to you, but to one who knows him, it is clear that he agreed, or he would have said otherwise. Oh, he is very droll like that. A look or a glance will be all he will allow of his thoughts, but to one who knows him, it is as if he had said a volume.”
Jane wondered that Miss Dunkirk would boast so of knowing him, almost as if they had the intimacy of family. “I must bow to your judgment, since I know so little of the man and you study with him.”
“He is such a wonderful teacher. Truly he is. Though I wish I had half the talent that you do.” Miss Dunkirk sighed and sat on the bench in the middle of the roses. “He is like my brother: They both think that the arts are the highest accomplishments and think little of people without those skills.”
A small hope flared in Jane’s breast that Mr. Dunkirk might learn of Melody’s deficiency in the matter of the arts, but she quashed it as ruthlessly as she could. Though she felt she would have been justified in exposing Melody after her trick the day before, Jane would not—she could not—bring herself to be anything less than virtuous with regards to Mr. Dunkirk if she had any hope of gaining his—
Jane reined in her thought there. No. She had no hope of that. She must remember herself and not be tempted by the idle thoughts of Mr. Dunkirk’s sister, who was, after all, very young and given to fancies.
“Now, I know you have spoken falsely, for your brother holds you in high regard.”
“Well, he is bound to! Mr. Vincent is not, but I begin to think that he likes me a little, because he is not so cross as when he first came. I have seen him once or twice almost smile at me when I did something right.”
“Ah. ‘Almost smiles’ are indeed something worth working for.”
“You may teaze me, but Mr. Vincent’s praise is more valuable for being rare.” Miss Dunkirk’s gaze turned inward, and her countenance darkened. “Teachers with quick praise are not to be trusted.”
Jane regarded her, wondering again what her history was that gave her periods of such darkness. These moods had become rarer as she and Miss Dunkirk had gotten to know each other, but some chance word or turn of phrase would still cast her spirits down from time to time. Jane wanted to bring her back to her former laughing self, so she said, “I have always thought that the least trustworthy teachers were the ones with tonics.”
A laugh broke out of Miss Dunkirk, restoring gaiety to her face. “I thank the heavens I have never had a tutor with tonics.”
At that point, Mr. Dunkirk and Melody finally reached the center of the maze. “There you are. We have been hearing your laughter, but could not find you. At least, I could not. I am certain that Miss Melody knew her way through the maze precisely.”
“It does not do to go too quickly to the heart, Mr. Dunkirk,” Melody said, her gaze cast downward,
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