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He exclaimed with admiration, upon hearing the account of Harry Sandford’s fortitude, “That’s right!–that’s right!–I am glad Harry did not tell that cruel Squire Chace which way the hare was gone. I like Harry for bearing to be beaten, rather than speak a word when he did not choose it. I love Harry, don’t you?” said he, appealing to Mad. de Rosier.

“Yes, I like him very much,” said Mad. de Rosier: “but not for the reason that you have just given.”

“No!” said Herbert, starting up: “why, ma’am, don’t you like Harry for saving the poor hare? don’t you admire him for bearing all the hard blows, and for saying, when the man asked him afterward why he didn’t tell which way the hare was gone, ‘Because I don’t choose to betray the unfortunate?'”

“Oh! don’t you love him for that?” said Favoretta, rising from her seat; “I think Herbert himself would have given just such an answer, only not in such good words. I wonder, Mad. de Rosier, you don’t like that answer!”

“I have never said that I did not like that answer,” said Mad. de Rosier, as soon as she was permitted to speak.

“Then you do like it? then you do like Harry?” exclaimed Herbert and Favoretta, both at once.

“Yes, I like that answer, Herbert; I like your friend Harry for saying that he did not choose to betray the unfortunate. You did not do him justice or yourself, when you said just now that you liked Harry because he bore to be beaten rather than speak a word when he did not choose it.”

Herbert looked puzzled.

“I mean,” continued Mad. de Rosier, “that, before I can determine whether I like and admire any body for persisting in doing or in not doing any thing, I must hear their reasons for their resolution. ‘I don’t choose it,’ is no reason; I must hear their reasons for choosing or not choosing it before I can judge.”

“And I have told you the reason Harry gave for not choosing to speak when he was asked, and you said it was a good one; and you like him for his courage, don’t you?” said Herbert.

“Yes,” said Mad. de Rosier; “those who are resolute, when they have good reasons for their resolution, I admire; those who persist merely because they choose it, and who cannot, or will not, tell why they choose it, I despise.”

“Oh, so do I!” said Favoretta: “you know, brother, whenever you say you don’t choose it, I am always angry, and ask you why.”

“And if you were not always angry,” said Mad. de Rosier, “perhaps sometimes your brother would tell you why.”

“Yes, that I should,” said Herbert; “I always have a good reason to give Favoretta, though I don’t always choose to give it.”

“Then,” said Mad. de Rosier, “you cannot always expect your sister to admire the justice of your decisions.”

“No,” replied Herbert; “but when I don’t give her a reason, ’tis generally because it is not worth while. There can be no great wisdom, you know, in resolutions about trifles: such as, whether she should be my horse or I her horse, or whether I should water my radishes before breakfast or after.”

“Certainly, you are right: there can be no great wisdom in resolutions about such trifles, therefore wise people never are obstinate about trifles.”

“Do you know,” cried Herbert, after a pause, “they used, before you came, to say that I was obstinate; but with you I have never been so, because you know how to manage me; you manage me a great deal more cunningly than Grace used to do.”

“I would not manage you more cunningly than Grace used to do, if I could,” replied Mad. de Rosier; “for then I should manage you worse than she did. It is no pleasure to me to govern you; I had much rather that you should use your reason to govern yourself.”