“It is very encouraging indeed, sir,” said Clara, dryly, but with no semblance of irony,--“very encouraging. There is, then, really no reason that one day I might not be a rope-dancer.” “Clara,” cried Mrs. Morris, severely, “you must curb this habit, if you will not do better by abandoning it altogether. The spirit of repartee is the spirit of impertinence.” “I had really hoped, mamma,” said she, with an air of simplicity, “that, as all Mr. Stocmar's illustrations were taken from the stage, I had caught the spirit of his examples in giving one from the circus.” “I'll be sworn you're fond of riding,” cried Stocmar, eager to relieve a very awkward crisis even by a stupid remark. “Yes, sir; and I am very clever in training. I know the whole 'Bauchet' system, and can teach a horse his 'flexions,' and the rest of it.--Well, but, mamma,” broke she in, apologetically, “surely my guardian ought to be aware of my perfections; and if _you_ won't inform him, _I_ must.” “You perceive, sir,” said Mrs. Morris, “that when I spoke of her flippancy, I was not exaggerating.” “You may rely upon it, Mr. Stocmar,” continued Clara, “mamma's description of me was only justice.” Stocmar laughed, and hoped that the others would have joined him; but in this he was unhappily disappointed: they were even graver than before; Mrs. Morris showing, in her heightened color, a degree of irritation, while Clara's pale face betrayed no sign of emotion. “You are to leave this to-morrow, Clara,” said Mrs. Morris, coldly. “Very well, mamma,” was the quiet answer. “You don't seem very eager to know for whither,” said Stocmar, smiling. “Are all places alike to you?” “Pretty much so, sir,” said she, in the same voice. “You were scarcely prepared for so much philosophy, I 'm sure, Mr. Stocmar,” said Mrs. Morris, sneeringly. “Pray confess yourself surprised.” “Call it ignorance, mamma, and you'll give it the right name. What do _I_ know of the world, save from guide and road books? and, from the little I have gleaned, many a village would be pleasanter to me than Paris.” “More philosophy, sir. You perceive what a treasure of wisdom is about to be intrusted to your charge.” “Pray bear that in mind, sir,” said Clara, with a light laugh; “and don't forget that though the casket has such a leaden look, it is all pure gold.” Never was poor Stocmar so puzzled before. He felt sailing between two frigates in action, and exposed to the fire of each, though a non- combatant; nor was it of any use that he hauled down his flag, and asked for mercy,--they only loaded and banged away again. “I must say,” cried he at last, “that I feel very proud of my ward.” “And I am charmed with my guardian,” said she, courtesying, with an air that implied far more of grace than sincerity in its action. Mrs. Morris bit her lip, and a small red spot on her cheek glowed like a flame.