Chap­ter II – First Lessons in the Art of Instruc­tion begins with Agnes Grey step­ping into her new role under a heavy Sep­tem­ber sky that reflects the uncer­tain­ty she feels with­in. Though eager to begin her duties, she can­not ignore the unease of being tru­ly inde­pen­dent for the first time. The Bloom­field estate is large and qui­et, and its ele­gance offers lit­tle com­fort to some­one arriv­ing alone. Mrs. Bloom­field greets her with reserve, offer­ing no warmth beyond for­mal cour­tesy. Agnes, still recov­er­ing from trav­el fatigue, tries to make a good impres­sion while hid­ing her grow­ing anx­i­ety. The grandeur of the home only empha­sizes how small and unproven she feels. But her resolve remains firm—this role, she believes, is her chance to be use­ful and to grow.

Her first meet­ing with the chil­dren at lunch is awk­ward but reveal­ing. Tom is loud and self-assured, while Mary Ann seeks con­stant approval, mak­ing it dif­fi­cult for Agnes to find bal­ance between kind­ness and author­i­ty. She observes them close­ly, not­ing behav­iors rather than jump­ing to con­clu­sions. It becomes clear that Tom dom­i­nates the house­hold, his words often inter­rupt­ing or mock­ing his sis­ter. When they walk in the gar­den, Agnes learns even more. Tom brags about his school­room, his pony, and worst of all, how he harms birds and small crea­tures for sport. His cru­el­ty is not hidden—it is proud­ly shared, with no fear of rep­ri­mand. Agnes’s heart aches at this, and she gen­tly tries to dis­cour­age his behav­ior, hop­ing to plant the seed of empa­thy.

Despite her best inten­tions, Agnes quick­ly real­izes that her posi­tion car­ries lit­tle influ­ence. Tom’s behav­ior has been allowed for so long that any cor­rec­tion is viewed as unnec­es­sary inter­fer­ence. Even Mrs. Bloom­field seems detached from the moral guid­ance Agnes hoped to offer. Still, she refus­es to low­er her stan­dards. Her response to Tom is qui­et but consistent—she will not praise cru­el­ty, nor will she accept rude­ness as nat­ur­al. She tries to offer lessons that reflect both intel­li­gence and kind­ness, hop­ing that rep­e­ti­tion might lead to reflec­tion. Yet the gap between her val­ues and the fam­i­ly’s tol­er­ance grows more evi­dent with each pass­ing hour. The house­hold appears more invest­ed in con­trol than in char­ac­ter.

Her after­noon is spent famil­iar­iz­ing her­self with the study mate­ri­als, many of which are out­dat­ed or poor­ly cho­sen for the chil­dren’s devel­op­ment. She adjusts the cur­ricu­lum slight­ly, plan­ning to include basic read­ing, writ­ing, arith­metic, and nature stud­ies. Her aim is to cul­ti­vate curios­i­ty as well as dis­ci­pline. But she soon sees that learn­ing, like behav­ior, is viewed as a chore in this household—something endured rather than enjoyed. Tom, in par­tic­u­lar, resists instruc­tion unless it flat­ters his ego or brings him praise. Agnes’s calm insis­tence on struc­ture and fair­ness clash­es with his desire for dom­i­nance. Mary Ann, though less chal­leng­ing, echoes her brother’s moods. Agnes sens­es that both chil­dren have learned to mea­sure atten­tion by vol­ume, not by mer­it.

As the evening approach­es, Agnes reflects on the day’s lessons—not just those she gave, but those she received. She under­stands now that being a gov­erness means walk­ing a line between pres­ence and invis­i­bil­i­ty. She is expect­ed to teach, but not to inter­fere; to guide, but not to chal­lenge. Yet she remains qui­et­ly deter­mined. The chil­dren may be dif­fi­cult, the par­ents indif­fer­ent, but her mis­sion is clear: to mod­el con­sis­ten­cy, com­pas­sion, and integri­ty. She will try, day by day, to shape what she can, even if the impact is small. This inner strength becomes her anchor, remind­ing her that true instruc­tion isn’t always mea­sured in imme­di­ate suc­cess, but in steady effort.

That night, as she writes a short note to her moth­er, Agnes refrains from express­ing her full frus­tra­tion. She shares only small details, sav­ing the heav­ier thoughts for her­self. Her desire not to wor­ry her fam­i­ly is matched by her hope that things might improve. The work is hard, but not with­out mean­ing. For Agnes, the chance to influ­ence even one child’s heart is rea­son enough to endure. Though her role may be over­looked, her pur­pose remains vivid. And so, the chap­ter clos­es with her qui­et affir­ma­tion that kind­ness, how­ev­er dis­missed by oth­ers, is nev­er wast­ed.