The salary
is the thing. I hear of no one now who will come for less than sixty
or seventy pounds a year at the lowest; and with Henry at school, and
Rupert's college expenses, forty pounds is as much as we can afford to
give."

"Miss Broughton will, I think, be quite content with that: she only
wants to be happy, and at rest, and she will be all that with you and
Cissy and Mr. Redmond. She is young, and it is her first trial, but
she is very clever: she has a really lovely voice, and paints
excessively well. Ethel has rather a taste for painting, has she not?"

"A decided talent for it. All my family were remarkable for their
artistic tendencies, so she, doubtless, inherits it; and--yes, of
course, it would be a great thing for her to have some one on the spot
to develop this talent, and train it. Your friend, you say, is well
connected?"

"Very highly connected, on her mother's side. Her father was a
lieutenant in the navy, and very respectable too, I believe; though I
know nothing of him."

"That she should be a lady is, of course, indispensable," says Mrs.
Redmond, with all the pride that ought to belong to softgoods people.
"I need hardly say _that_, I think. But why does she not appeal for
help to her mother's relations?"

"Because she prefers honest work to begging from those who up to this
have taken no notice of her."

"I admire her," says Mrs. Redmond, warmly. "If you think she will be
satisfied with forty pounds, I should like to try what she could do
with the children."

"I am very glad you have so decided. I know no place in which I would
rather see a friend of mine than here."

"Thank you, my dear. Then will you write to her, or shall I?"

"Let me write to her first, if you don't mind: I think I can settle
everything."

"Mind?--no, indeed: it is only too good of you to take so much trouble
about me."

To which Clarissa says, prettily,--

"Do not put it in that light: there is no pleasure so keen as that of
being able to help one's friends."

Then she rises, and, having left behind her three socks that no
earthly power can ever again draw upon a child's foot, so hopelessly
has she brought heel and sole together, she says good-by to Mrs.
Redmond, and leaves the room.

Outside on the avenue she encounters the vicar, hurrying home.

"Turn with me," she says, putting her hand through his arm. "I have
something to say to you."

"Going to be married?" asks he, gayly.

"Nonsense!"--blushin