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didn't know, some of the masters admired our very pretty governess, and there was a 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 is 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 15th."

      "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,—

      "Do ask the poor little daughter to come with her mother to the Towers; why, she must be seventeen or more; she would really be a companion to you, mamma, if her mother was unable to come."

      "I was not ten when Clare married, and I'm nearly nine-and-twenty," added Lady Harriet.

      "Don't speak of it, Harriet; at any rate you are but eight-and-twenty now, and you look a great deal younger. There is no need to be always bringing up your age on every possible occasion."

      "There was need of it now, though. I wanted to make out how old Cynthia Kirkpatrick was. I think she can't be far from eighteen."

      "She is at school at Boulogne, I know; and so I don't think she can be as old as that. Clare says something about her in this letter: 'Under these circumstances' (the ill-success of her school), 'I cannot think myself justified in allowing myself the pleasure of having darling Cynthia at home for the holidays; especially as the period when the vacation in French schools commences differs from that common in England; and it might occasion some confusion in my arrangements if darling Cynthia were to come to Ashcombe, and occupy my time and thoughts so immediately before the commencement of my scholastic duties as the 8th of August, on which day her vacation begins, which is but two days before my holidays end.' So, you see, Clare would be quite at liberty to come to me, and I daresay it would be a very nice change for her."

      "And Hollingford is busy seeing after his new laboratory at the Towers, and is constantly backwards and forwards. And Agnes wants to go there for change of air, as soon as she is strong enough after her confinement. And even my own dear insatiable 'me' will have had enough of gaiety in two or three weeks, if this hot weather lasts."

      "I think I may be able to come down for a few days too, if you will let me, mamma; and I'll bring Grace, who is looking rather pale and weedy; growing too fast, I'm afraid. So I hope you won't be dull."

      "My dear," said Lady Cumnor, drawing herself up, "I should be ashamed of feeling dull with my resources; my duties to others and to myself!"

      So the plan in its present shape was told to Lord Cumnor, who highly approved of it; as he always did of every project of his wife's. Lady Cumnor's character was perhaps a little too ponderous for him in reality, but he was always full of admiration for all her words and deeds, and used to boast of her wisdom, her benevolence, her power and dignity, in her absence, as if by this means he could buttress up his own more feeble nature.

      "Very good—very good, indeed! Clare to join you at the Towers! Capital! I couldn't have planned it better myself! I shall go down with you on Wednesday in time for the jollification on Thursday. I always enjoy that day; they are such nice, friendly people, those good Hollingford ladies. Then I'll have a day with Sheepshanks, and perhaps I may ride over to Ashcombe and see Preston—Brown Jess can do it in a day, eighteen miles—to be sure! But there's back again to the Towers!—how much is twice eighteen—thirty?"

      "Thirty-six," said Lady Cumnor, sharply.

      "So it is; you're always right, my dear. Preston's a clever, sharp fellow."

      "I don't like him," said my lady.

      "He takes looking after; but he's a sharp fellow. He's such a good-looking man, too, I wonder you don't like him."

      "I never think whether a land-agent is handsome or not. They don't belong to the class of people whose appearance I notice."

      "To be sure not. But he is a handsome fellow; and what should make you like him is the interest he takes in Clare and her prospects. He is constantly suggesting something that can be done to her house, and I know he sends her fruit, and flowers, and game just as regularly as we should ourselves if we lived at Ashcombe."

      "How old is he?" said Lady Cumnor, with a faint suspicion of motives in her mind.

      "About twenty-seven, I think. Ah! I see what is in your ladyship's head. No! no! he's too young for that. You must look out for some middle-aged man, if you want to get poor Clare married; Preston won't do."

      "I'm not a match-maker, as you might know. I never did it for my own daughters. I'm not likely to do it for Clare," said she, leaning back languidly.

      "Well! you might do a worse thing. I'm beginning to think she'll never get on as a schoolmistress, though

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