Chap­ter III – A Few More Lessons fol­lows Agnes Grey through one of her most tax­ing ear­ly days as gov­erness to the Bloom­field chil­dren. Her opti­mism quick­ly dims as she real­izes that her role demands more patience, strength, and skill than she antic­i­pat­ed. The process of prepar­ing Mary Ann for the day proves exhaust­ing. The child’s impa­tience and fussi­ness clash with Agnes’s inex­pe­ri­ence, turn­ing sim­ple tasks into hour-long bat­tles. Meal­times bring lit­tle reprieve. A brief moment of civil­i­ty at break­fast is undone by the return to the class­room, where both chil­dren resist instruc­tion with remark­able ener­gy. Agnes attempts to bring struc­ture and encour­age­ment, but her author­i­ty is nei­ther rec­og­nized nor respect­ed. Her kind tone is mis­tak­en for weak­ness, and her pupils respond with indif­fer­ence and defi­ance.

Dur­ing lessons, Agnes observes that Tom, while clever, avoids effort and scoffs at learn­ing. Mary Ann is slow­er and prone to dis­trac­tion, show­ing lit­tle inter­est in read­ing or writ­ing. Despite this, Agnes press­es on, hop­ing that con­sis­tent dis­ci­pline and encour­age­ment might fos­ter improve­ment. Yet every small gain feels imme­di­ate­ly erased. When she takes the chil­dren out­side for fresh air and recre­ation, the sit­u­a­tion wors­ens. Rather than fol­low guid­ance, they demand con­trol, drag­ging her into mud­dy areas and dis­re­gard­ing every instruc­tion. At the well, their dis­obe­di­ence becomes dan­ger­ous. Agnes’s efforts to redi­rect them fail, draw­ing the ire of Mr. Bloom­field, who sud­den­ly appears and scolds her with cold author­i­ty. His tone is harsh, and his dis­ap­point­ment is clear—not at the children’s defi­ance, but at Agnes’s inabil­i­ty to pre­vent it.

This encounter marks Agnes’s first true impres­sion of Mr. Bloom­field, and it leaves a deep imprint. He does not offer sup­port or under­stand­ing, but deliv­ers sharp crit­i­cism wrapped in a tone of supe­ri­or­i­ty. His expec­ta­tions are absolute, yet no guid­ance is offered on how to meet them. Lat­er at lun­cheon, his rigid demeanor con­tin­ues. Com­plaints about the meat and his wife’s host­ing turn the meal into anoth­er are­na of dis­sat­is­fac­tion. Agnes watch­es qui­et­ly as Mrs. Bloom­field accepts his harsh words with down­cast eyes, rein­forc­ing the dynam­ics of con­trol in the house­hold. Agnes real­izes that her posi­tion, already ten­u­ous, offers lit­tle room for error and no safe­ty net should she fal­ter. The house­hold val­ues order over under­stand­ing and con­trol over coop­er­a­tion.

The after­noon lessons drag on with resis­tance from both pupils. Agnes cor­rects mis­takes, sets bound­aries, and attempts to teach with clar­i­ty and pur­pose, but the chil­dren’s unwill­ing­ness remains con­stant. Every method she tries is met with ridicule or stub­born­ness. By the end of the day, she is drained but deter­mined. She writes a let­ter home, not filled with com­plaints, but with calm reflec­tion and cau­tious hope. Her fam­i­ly remains her only source of emo­tion­al relief—a reminder of who she is beyond this oppres­sive role. Though she acknowl­edges her hard­ships, she still believes that kind­ness and steadi­ness might yield results in time.

How­ev­er, doubt begins to creep in. The children’s dis­re­gard for learn­ing and the Bloom­fields’ unwill­ing­ness to sup­port or even acknowl­edge her efforts cast a shad­ow over her ear­ly expec­ta­tions. Agnes starts to ques­tion whether her influ­ence can make any real dif­fer­ence here. She came into the role hop­ing to teach and guide, but now sees how lit­tle author­i­ty she actu­al­ly holds. The struc­ture of the house­hold offers her no tools, only respon­si­bil­i­ties. Her gen­tle­ness is mis­in­ter­pret­ed as weak­ness, and firm­ness is unwel­come. Still, she refus­es to adopt cru­el­ty or indif­fer­ence, believ­ing that los­ing her val­ues would be a deep­er fail­ure than los­ing the children’s favor.

As the chap­ter clos­es, Agnes is left with a dif­fi­cult truth: her role may not be enough to reshape the envi­ron­ment she’s entered. The Bloom­field home is built on hier­ar­chy and image, not on coop­er­a­tion or learn­ing. Yet she clings to her moral code, con­vinced that integri­ty is worth hold­ing onto, even in a place where it may go unseen. In this, Agnes Grey becomes more than just a governess—she rep­re­sents the qui­et per­sis­tence of those who seek to do good in a world that rewards appear­ance over sub­stance. Her strug­gles, though deeply per­son­al, reflect the wider chal­lenges faced by those work­ing with­in rigid, indif­fer­ent sys­tems, and her resolve offers a glim­mer of strength for any­one nav­i­gat­ing a sim­i­lar­ly thank­less path.