“What a little wretch!” said Clara; “but oh! Mrs. Crofton, isn’t it absurd what people say about children’s gentleness and sweetness, and all that? I know there is never a story told in my nursery of a wicked giant, or a bad uncle, or anything of that sort, but the very baby, if he could speak, would give his vote for cutting the villain up in little pieces. There never were such cruel imps. They quite shout with satisfaction when that poor innocent giant, who never did any harm that I can see, tumbles down the beanstalk and gets killed--though I am sure that impudent little thief Jack deserves it a great deal more. But what a memory Derwie has!--and how he understands! I am sure, I hope most sincerely that Bertie, after all, will get safe home. Is there any more news?” “No more,” said I, “I have not heard from himself a long time now--and the public news only keeps us anxious. I am not quite so philosophical as Derwie--few things would make me so thankful as to hear that Bertie was on his way home.” “Oh, I should be so glad!” said Clara, eagerly; then, after a pause and with a smile, “young men who want their friends to get dreadfully interested about them should all go out--don’t you think, Mrs. Crofton? There is Alice, for example. I thought everything was coming round quite nicely, and that Alice was going to be quite rational, and _settle_ like other people, at last--but just when everything seemed in such excellent train, lo! here came this Indian business, and upset the whole again.” “Upset what? I don’t understand what you mean,” said I, with a little wonder, partly affected and partly real. “Oh, Mrs. Crofton! you _do_,” cried Clara; “you know mamma and I had just been making up our minds that Mr. Reredos was _the_ person, and that all was to be quite pleasant and comfortable. He was _so_ attentive, and Alice really so much better behaved than she had ever been before. Then this Indian business, you know, happened, and she was all in a craze again. She doesn’t say much, but I am quite sure it is nothing else that has upset her. Of course, looking at it in a rational way, Bertie and Alice can’t _really_ be anything to each other. But he’s far away, and he’s in danger, and there’s quite an air of romance about him. And Alice is so ridiculous! I am quite sure in my own mind that this is the only reason why she’s so very cool to the Rector again.” “It is very injudicious to say so, Clara,” said I; “of course she must be interested--her old playfellow--like a brother to you both; but as for interposing between her and an eligible”----