future with a
contempt which was as little becoming to his cloth. He made his wife
reflect that, with all her inherent grace and charm, Clementina was an
ignorant little country girl, who had neither the hardness of heart nor
the greediness of soul, which gets people on in the world, and repair
for them the disadvantages of birth and education. He represented that
even if favorable chances for success in society showed themselves to
the girl, the intense and inexpugnable vulgarity of Mrs. Lander would
spoil them; and he was glad of this, he said, for he believed that the
best thing which could happen to the child would be to come home as
sweet and good as she had gone away; he added this was what they ought
both to pray for.

His wife admitted this, but she retorted by asking if he thought such a
thing was possible, and he was obliged to own that it was not possible.
He marred the effect of his concession by subjoining that it was no more
possible than her making a brilliant and triumphant social figure in
society, either at home or in Europe.

XIV.

So far from embarking at once for Europe, Mrs. Lander went to that
hotel in a suburb of Boston, where she had the habit of passing the late
autumn months, in order to fortify herself for the climate of the early
winter months in the city. She was a little puzzled how to provide for
Clementina, with respect to herself, but she decided that the best thing
would be to have her sleep in a room opening out of her own, with a
folding bed in it, so that it could be used as a sort of parlor for both
of them during the day, and be within easy reach, for conversation, at
all times.

On her part, Clementina began by looking after Mrs. Lander's comforts,
large and little, like a daughter, to her own conception and to that of
Mrs. Lander, but to other eyes, like a servant. Mrs. Lander shyly shrank
from acquaintance among the other ladies, and in the absence of this,
she could not introduce Clementina, who went down to an early breakfast
alone, and sat apart with her at lunch and dinner, ministering to her in
public as she did in private. She ran back to their rooms to fetch her
shawl, or her handkerchief, or whichever drops or powders she happened
to be taking with her meals, and adjusted with closer care the hassock
which the head waiter had officially placed at her feet. They seldom sat
in the parlor where the ladies met, after dinner; they talked only to
each other; and t