clad in its white gown, has ceased to be a fleck of
coloring in the landscape, Clarissa says, thoughtfully,--

"What a pretty girl that is, and how refined! Quite a little lady in
manner; so calm, and so collected,--cold, almost. I know many girls,
irreproachably born, not to be compared with her, in my opinion. You
agree with me?"

"Birth is not always to be depended upon nowadays."

"She is so quiet, too, and so retiring. She would not even shake hands
with you, when we met her, though you wanted her to. Did you remark
that?"

"Sometimes I am dull about trifles, such as that."

"Yes. By the by, she did not seem surprised at seeing you here to-day,
although she thought you safe in town, as we all did,--you deceitful
boy."

"Did she not?"

"No. But then, of course, it was a matter of indifference to her."

"Of course."

They have reached the entrance to the vicarage by this time, and are
pausing to say farewell for a few hours.

"I shall come up to Gowran to-morrow morning first thing, and speak to
your father: is that what you will wish me to do?" asks Horace, her
hand in his.

"Yes. But, Horace," looking at him earnestly, "I think I should like
to tell it all to papa myself first, this evening."

"Very well, dearest. Do whatever makes you happiest," returns he,
secretly pleased that the ice will be broken for him before his
prepares for his _mauvais quart-d'heure_ in the library. "And if he
should refuse his consent, Clarissa, what then? You know you might
make so much a better marriage."

"Might I?"--tenderly. "I don't think so; and papa would not make me
unhappy."

CHAPTER IX.

"A generous friendship no cold medium knows."--POPE.

Mrs. Redmond is sitting on a centre ottoman, darning stockings. This
is her favorite pastime, and never fails her. When she isn't darning
stockings, she is always scolding the cook, and as her voice, when
raised, is not mellifluous, her family, in a body, regard the
work-basket with reverential affection, and present it to her notice
when there comes the crash of broken china from the lower regions, or
when the cold meat has been unfairly dealt with.

She is of the lean cadaverous order of womankind, and is bony to the
last degree. Her nose is aquiline, and, as a rule, pale blue. As this
last color might also describe her eyes, there is a depressing want of
contrast about her face. Her lips are thin and querulous, and her
hair--well, she hasn't any hair,