re, from circumstances as well as from Aunt
Theresa, that he gave his consent to a plan which never quite met with
his approval.

Several things at this time seemed to conspire to effect it. The St.
Quentins were going on long leave, and Miss Airlie would go with them.
This was a heavy blow. Then we heard of this school after Miss Airlie
had left Riflebury, a fact so opportune as to be (so Aunt Theresa said)
"quite providential." If we were to go to school, sending us to this one
would save the trouble of making personal inquiries, and perhaps a less
wise selection, for Major Buller had confidence in Mr. Arkwright's good
judgment. The ladies to whose care his daughter was confided were
probably fit to teach us.

"It would save a great deal of trouble," my guardian confessed, and it
must also be confessed that Major Buller was glad to avoid trouble when
he could conscientiously do so.

I think it was his warm approval of Eleanor which finally clinched the
question. He thought that she would be a good companion for poor
Matilda.

Why I speak of her as "poor Matilda" demands some explanation.

Before I attempt to give it I must say that there is one respect in
which our biographies must always be less satisfactory than a story that
one might invent. When you are putting down true things about yourself
and your friends, you cannot divide people neatly into the good and the
bad, the injurers and the injured, as you can if you are writing a tale
out of your head. The story seems more complete when you are able
either to lay the blame of the melancholy events on the shoulders of
some unworthy character, or to show that they were the natural
punishment of the sufferer's own misconduct. But in thinking of Matilda
and Aunt Theresa and Major Buller, or even of the Doctor and Mrs.
Buller's lady friends, this is not possible.

The morbid condition--of body and mind--into which Matilda fell for some
time was no light misfortune either as regards her sufferings or the
discomfort it produced in the household, and I am afraid she was both
mismanaged and in fault herself.

It is safe, at any rate, to take the blame for one's own share, and I
have often thought, with bitterness of spirit, that, child as I was, I
might have been both forbearing and helpful to Matilda at a time when
her temper was very much tried by ill-health and untoward circumstances.
We had a good many squabbles about this period. I piqued myself upon
generally