Matilda. She's a fine child."

"She will be handsome, mamma."

"She is very graceful now. She has a singular manner."

"But she is spoiled, mamma!"

"I shall unspoil her. Tilly is very young yet, and she has not had
enough to do. I shall give her something else to think of, and get
these absurdities out of her head. She just wants something to do."

"Mamma, she is not an easy child to influence. She says so little and
keeps her own counsel. I think you don't know her."

"I never saw the child yet that was a match for me," said Mrs. Candy,
complacently. "I like best one that has some stuff in her. Maria is a
wet sponge; you can squeeze her dry in a minute; no character, no
substance. Matilda is different. I should like to keep Tilly."

"If you could keep her out of Mr. Richmond's influence, mamma, it would
be a help. That church ruins her. She will be fit for nothing."

"I will take the nonsense out of her," said Mrs. Candy. "I cannot take
her out of the church, while we remain here, for that would raise a hue
and cry; but I will do as well. Here she comes."

A little soft knock at the door was followed by the little girl
herself; looking demure and sweet, after her fashion lately. It used to
be arch and sweet. But Matilda had been very sober since her mother's
death. The room into which she came had an air now very unlike all the
rest of the house. Mrs. Englefield's modest preparations for the
comfort of her guests were quite overlaid and lost sight of. It was as
if some fairy had shaken her hand over the room, and let fall pleasant
things everywhere. On the Marseilles quilt a gorgeous silk coverlet lay
folded. On the dressing-table a confusion of vases and bottles, in
coloured glass and painted china, were mixed up with combs and brushes
and fans and watch pockets and taper stands. The table in the middle of
the floor was heaped with elegant books and trinkets and work-boxes and
writing implements; and book stands and book shelves were about, and
soft foot cushions were dropped on the carpet, and easy arm-chairs
stood conveniently, and some faint perfume breathed all through the
room. Mrs. Candy was in one arm-chair and Clarissa in another.

Matilda was bidden to take a cricket, which she privately resented, and
then her aunt placed in her hands a largish volume and pointed her to
the page where she was to begin. Glancing up and down, at the top of
the page and the beginning of the book, Matilda found it was