duet which she had that morning been practising with Clara. It was very kind, and Marian knew it; for Caroline had said that she never liked that duet, and was heartily tired of it; but all the acknowledgement her strange bashfulness would allow her to make was a grateful look, and a whisper, 'Oh, thank you!'
Afterwards one of the young lively visitors sang, and Marian, who had never heard much music, was quite delighted; her stiff company-face relaxed, a tear came to her eyes, and she sat with parted lips, forgetting all her fears and all the party till the singing was over, and Caroline touched her, and told her it was bed-time. Marian wondered to see how well Caroline and Clara managed to escape without being observed; but she marvelled at their going to bed so much as if it was a thing of course to have no 'good night' from father or mother. When they were outside the door, in the hall, Marian, her heart still full of the music, could not help exclaiming, 'How beautiful!'
'What? Miss Bernard's singing?' said Clara. 'I declare, Caroline, Marian was very nearly crying! I saw you were, Marian.'
'She does sing very nicely,' said Caroline, 'but that song does not suit her voice. It is too high.'
'And she makes faces,' said Clara, 'she strains her throat; and she has such great fingers--I could never cry at Miss Bernard's singing, I am sure.'
Marian did not like this. 'Good night,' said she, abruptly.
'You are not vexed, are you?' said Clara, kindly. 'I did not think you would mind my noticing your crying. Don't be angry, Marian.'
'Oh, no, I am not at all angry,' said Marian, trying to speak with ease, but she did not succeed well. Her 'good nights,' had in them a tone as if she was annoyed, as in fact she was; though not at all in the way Clara supposed. She did not care for the notice of her tears, but she said to herself, 'This is what Edmund calls destroying the illusion. If they would but have let me go to bed with the spell of that song resting on me!'
She sighed with a feeling of relief and yet of weariness as she came into her own room, and found Saunders there. Saunders looked rather melancholy, but said nothing for the first two or three minutes; then as she combed Marian's hair straight over her face, she began, 'I hope you enjoyed yourself, Miss Marian?'
'Oh, Saunders,' said Marian, 'I'm very tired; I don't think I shall ever enjoy myself anywhere but at home.'
'Ah--hem--ah,' coughed Saunders, solemnly; then, after waiting for some observation from Marian, and hearing only a long yawn and a sigh, she went on. 'Prettily different is this place from home.'
'Indeed it is,' said Marian, from her heart.
'Such finery as I never thought to see below stairs, Miss Marian. I am sure the Manor House was a pattern to all the country round for comfort for the servants, and I should know something about it; but here--such a number of them, such eating and drinking all day long, and the very kitchen maids in such bonnets and flowers on Sundays, as would perfectly have shocked Mrs. White. And they are so ignorant. Fancy, Miss Marian, that fine gentleman the butler declaring he could not understand me, and that I spoke with a foreign accent! I speak French indeed!'
'But, Saunders,' said Marian, rather diverted, 'you do speak Devonshire a little.'
'Well, Miss Marian, perhaps I may; I only know 'tisn't for them to boast, for they speak so funny I can't hardly make them out; and with my own ears I have heard that same Mr. Perkins himself calling you Miss Harundel. But that is not all. Why, not half of them ever go to church on a Sunday; and as to Mrs. Mitten, the housekeeper, not a bit does she care whether they do or not; and no wonder, when Mr. Lyddell himself never goes in the afternoon, and has gentlemen to speak to him. And then down at the stables--'tis a pretty set of drinking, good-for-nothing fellows there. I hope from my heart Sir Gerald won't be for getting down there among them; but they say Master Lionel and Master John are always there. And that Mr. Elliot--'
In this manner Saunders discoursed all the while she was putting Marian to bed. Both she and her young lady wore doing what had much better have been let alone. Saunders had no business to carry complaints and gossip, Marian ought not to have listened to them; but the truth was that Saunders was an old attached confidential servant, who had come to
