never think of blaming her as if she had originated the mischief; while mamma, who never did know her, cannot be persuaded that she simply yielded to Clara.'
'That is not exactly the object one desires in a governess,' said Marian. 'Well, poor thing! and how is Clara? is she very sorry?'
'I really can hardly tell. I have been vexed with Clara myself, to tell you the truth; for I thought she acted shabbily. The blame passed over her, and lighted on Miss Morley; and she did not stretch out a hand to help her. Now Clara knew that it was wrong to read those books, just as well as you or I; indeed, it was all her doing; and I could not bear to see, her thinking herself innocent, and led into the scrape by Miss Morley. She did cry excessively, and was very unhappy when she found Miss Morley was really going, and the parting was heart-rending; but then the very next day, in spite of their confidential friendship, she began to disclose the poor woman's follies one after another, till I am quite tired of hearing of them. They must have grown much worse than they were in our time. I never knew then that she was always fancying people were in love with her.'
'T wonder what she will do!'
'She would not be a bad governess where the mother looked after the children. Well, I hope she will soon get another situation, poor thing!'
'Yes, indeed, for I am afraid she never saved anything.'
'O, no, she frittered all her money away, and always was poor at quarter-day; and she has only that old aunt to take care of her.'
'Poor thing, poor thing! If she would but have been firmer. And is Clara to have another governess?'
'No, mamma thinks her too old; but I am sure I hope she is to develope more. I do not think you or I were like her at fifteen.'
'I think,' said Marian, meditatively, 'that Miss Morley and Clara helped what--was not wise in each other.'
'Yes, that is my hope,--that when Clara is out of her influence, she may grow wiser. People's minds do grow at different times, you know. Poor little Clara! I want Walter to talk to her, but it is hard to bring about; for they seem to have no common subject. Ours is a very odd household; we all go our own ways in our own worlds. Papa and mamma each have their way; and Elliot his way. Walter stands alone too; then I am a sort of connecting-link between the schoolroom set and mamma,--yes, and with Walter too: while the three boys are a party by themselves. O, Marian, no wonder you did not like us.'
'Say no more of that, pray, Caroline.'
She made no answer, but after a pause, suddenly exclaimed, 'Nothing would matter, if it was not for Elliot. He is the root of all that has gone wrong.'
'Is he at home?'
'No; he went last week, and the storm lulled then. O, Marian, I am weary of it all! But it is one comfort that you are come.'
Caroline certainly looked very much harassed, and her words showed that every one had been out of temper, and she had been obliged to bear it all. Marian was very sorry, and felt quite fond of her, as she answered, with a kind tone, 'Thank you.'
'Walter has been the only comfort; but then he has been very unhappy too. I am afraid he knows more and worse of Elliot than he chooses to tell me. And then he is so busy,--going up for his degree, you know, after the vacation, and so nervous about it, that I have not liked to talk to him about anything tiresome, because, poor fellow, he is quite worried enough already. Well, but now tell me about pleasanter things--your pretty Agnes, how is she? and Gerald?--I wanted to have seen more of him. Was not he in glory?'
'O, yes,' said Marian, as a pang shot through her at this recall of her anxieties.
'And tell me the whole story of Saunders' wedding.'
