kind of respectable veiled flirtation going on, which never came to anything, to be sure; and then you were often so overwhelmed with your business as a great lady—fashionable and benevolent, and all that sort of thing—that you used to call Clare away from us at the most critical times of our lessons, to write your notes, or add up your accounts; and the consequence is, that I’m about the most ill-informed girl in London. Only Mary was so capitally trained by good awkward Miss Benson, that she is always full to overflowing with accurate knowledge, and her glory is reflected upon me.”
“Do you think what Harriet says is true, Mary?” asked Lady Cumnor rather anxiously.
“I was so little with Clare in the school-room. I used to read French with her; she had a beautiful accent, I remember. Both Agnes and Harriet were very fond of her. I used to be jealous for Miss Benson’s sake, and perhaps”—Lady Cuxhaven paused a minute—“that made me fancy that she had a way of flattering and indulging them—not quite conscientious, I used to think. But girls are severe judges, and certainly she had had an anxious enough lifetime. I am always so glad when we can have her, and give her a little pleasure. The only thing that makes me uneasy now is the way in which she seems to send her daughter away from her so much; we never can persuade her to bring Cynthia with her when she comes to see us.”
“Now, that I call ill-natured,” said Lady Harriet; “here’s a poor dear woman trying to earn her livelihood, first as a governess, and what could she do with her daughter then, but send her to school? and after that, when Clare is asked to go visiting, and is too modest to bring her girl with her—besides all the expense of the journey, and the rigging out—Mary finds fault with her for her modesty and economy.”
“Well, after all, we are not discussing Clare and her affairs, but trying to plan for mamma’s comfort. I don’t see that she can do better than ask Mrs. Kirkpatrick to come to the Towers—as soon as her holidays begin, I mean.”
“Here is her last letter,” said Lady Cumnor, who had been searching for it in her escritoire, while her daughters were talking. Holding her glasses before her eyes, she began to read, “‘My wonted misfortunes appear to have followed me to Ashcombe’—um, um, um; that’s not it—‘Mr. Preston is most kind in sending me fruit and flowers from the Manor-house, according to dear Lord Cumnor’s kind injunction.’ Oh, here it is! ‘The vacation begins on the 11th, according to the usual custom of schools in Ashcombe; and I must then try and obtain some change of air and scene, in order to fit myself for the resumption of my duties on the 10th of August.’ You see, girls, she would be at liberty, if she has not made any other arrangement for spending her holidays. To-day is the fifteenth.”
“I’ll write to her at once, mamma,” Lady Harriet said. “Clare and I are always great friends: I was her confidant in her loves with poor Mr. Kirkpatrick, and we’ve kept up our intimacy ever since. I know of three offers she had besides.”
“I sincerely hope Miss Bowes is not telling her love-affairs to Grace or Lily. Why, Harriet, you could not have been older than Grace, when Clare was married!” said Lady Cuxhaven, in maternal alarm.
“No; but I was well versed in the tender passion, thanks to novels. Now, I daresay you don’t admit novels into your school-room, Mary; so your daughters wouldn’t be able to administer discreet sympathy to their governess, in case she was the heroine of a love-affair.”
“My dear Harriet, don’t let me hear you talking of love in that way; it is not pretty. Love is a serious thing.”
“My dear mamma, your exhortations are just eighteen years too late. I’ve talked all the freshness off love, and that’s the reason I’m tired of the subject.”
This last speech referred to a recent refusal of Lady Harriet’s, which had displeased Lady Cumnor, and rather annoyed my lord; as they, the parents, could see no objection to the gentleman in question. Lady Cuxhaven did not want to have the subject brought up, so she hastened to say—