“Miss Clare,” said Mrs. Fillpot, solemnly, “I’ve been about you since you were a baby. When your poor dear mamma died, though it was Sarah as took you from the month, I had all the responsibility. When you was a little girl with governesses and that sort, it was always me as was referred to----” “Please to tell me what all this is about,” said Clare, coldly. “You see I am engaged; I have a great many things to think of. I don’t want to go over all my childish days now----” “Miss Clare, it’s not my wish to make myself disagreeable--it never was,” said Mrs. Fillpot, growing breathless, “but when I see things going on as are not what they should be, and gentlemen’s visits which it’s not nice for a young lady to be known as one that would put up with them, and going on day after day, and the Squire not here, nor no lady companion, nor even a servant a-setting in the room----” “What do you mean?” said Clare sharply, stopping her in the midst of this harangue. “I mean just what I am saying, Miss,” said Mrs. Fillpot, in her excitement; “it’s not nice for no young lady--it’s a thing as no young lady should do, Miss. I’ve held my tongue as long as I could, and I won’t no longer. I’ll write to Master, Miss--I’ll speak to Mr. Arthur--I must do something. Not so much as a maid a-setting in the room and ne’er a lady in the house--and him coming and coming. I will say of Mr. Arthur as I thought he had more sense.” Clare had chilled and hardened into stone as she was thus addressed. A deep blush had covered her face at first, but that had faded, leaving her more pale than usual; and her blue eyes shot glances that were like arrows of ice into the good woman’s heart. Those blue eyes, which were sometimes so sweet, how cold, how blighting, how withering they could be! She pointed her hand to the door before she could speak. She made a spasmodic effort to retain her composure and dignity. “Do precisely what you please,” she said, “but do not let me see you again.” “Miss Clare!” said the woman. “Oh, Miss Clare, it’s your good I am thinking of. What could I want but your good?--me that has nursed you, and loved you, and took an interest----” “Go away, please,” said Clare, with a choked voice. “Go away; I don’t wish to see you again.” “Oh, Miss Clare!----” “Go. Don’t you see I am---- occupied? Can’t you see? Good heavens! are you a woman, and have no more sense than to stand and drive me frantic there?” “But Miss Clare----”