"Thank you, my dear. But, you see, you would never be in time. And, unfortunately, the services must begin always at a regular hour. Punctuality was the one thing I never could teach you,--that, and the Catechism." "What a libel!" says Clarissa. "I shouldn't malign my own teaching if I were you. I am perfectly certain I could say it all now, this very moment, from start to finish, questions and all, without a mistake. Shall I?" "No, no. I'll take your word for it," says the vicar, hastily. "The fact is, I have just been listening to it at the morning school in the village, and when one has heard a thing repeated fourteen times with variations, one naturally is not ambitious of hearing it again, no matter how profitable it may be." "When I spoke of filling Charlotte's place," says Clarissa, "I did not allude in any way to myself, but to----And now I am coming to my news." "So glad!" says the vicar; "I may overtake old Betty yet." "I have secured a governess for Mrs. Redmond. Such a dear little governess! And I want you to promise me to be more than usually kind to her, because she is young and friendless and it is her first effort at teaching." "So that question is settled at last," says the vicar, with a deep--if carefully suppressed--sigh of relief. "I am rejoiced, if only for my wife's sake, who has been worrying herself for weeks past, trying to replace the inestimable--if somewhat depressing--Miss Prood." "Has she?" says Clarissa, kindly. "Worry is a bad thing. But to-day Mrs. Redmond seems much better than she has been for a long time. Indeed, she said so." "Did she?" says the vicar, with a comical, transient smile, Mrs. Redmond's maladies being of the purely imaginary order. "What are you laughing at now?" asks Clarissa, who has marked this passing gleam of amusement. "At you, my dear, you are so quaintly humorous," replies he. "But go on: tell me of this new acquisition to our household. Is she a friend of yours?" "Yes, a great friend." "Then of course we shall like her." "Thank you," says Clarissa. "She is very pretty, and very charming. Perhaps, after all, I am doing a foolish thing for myself. How shall I feel when she has cut me out at the vicarage?" "Not much fear of that, were she Aphrodite herself. You are much too good a child to be liked lightly or by halves. Well, good-by: you won't forget about the flannel for the Batley twins?" "I have it ready,--at least, half of it. How could I tell she was going to have twins," says Clarissa, apologetically. "It certainly was very inconsiderate of her," says the vicar, with a sigh, as he thinks of the poverty that clings to the Batley _ménage_ from year's end to year's end. "Well, never mind; she shall have it all next week," promises Clarissa, soothingly, marking his regretful tone; and then she bids him farewell, and goes up the road again in the direction of her home.