began to talk them into Clementina, and to contrast
them with the wicked principles and actions of Miss Milray.

The girl had forgiven Mrs. Milray, but she could not go back to any
trust in her; and she could only passively assent to her praise. When
Mrs. Lander pressed her for anything more explicit she said what she
thought, and then Mrs. Lander accused her of hating Mrs. Milray, who
was more her friend than some that flattered her up for everything, and
tried to make a fool of her.

"I undastand now," she said one day, "what that recta meant by wantin'
me to make life ba'd for you; he saw how easy you was to spoil. Miss
Milray is one to praise you to your face, and disgrace you be hind your
back, and so I tell you. When Mrs. Milray thought you done wrong she
come and said so; and you can't forgive her."

Clementina did not answer. She had mastered the art of reticence in her
relations with Mrs. Lander, and even when Miss Milray tempted her one
day to give way, she still had strength to resist. But she could not
deny that Mrs. Lander did things at times to worry her, though she ended
compassionately with the reflection: "She's sick."

"I don't think she's very sick, now," retorted her friend.

"No; that's the reason she's so worrying. When she's really sick, she's
betta."

"Because she's frightened, I suppose. And how long do you propose to
stand it?

"I don't know," Clementina listlessly answered.

"She couldn't get along without me. I guess I can stand it till we go
home; she says she is going home in the fall."

Miss Milray sat looking at the girl a moment.

"Shall you be glad to go home?"

"Oh yes, indeed!"

"To that place in the woods?"

"Why, yes! What makes you ask?"

"Nothing. But Clementina, sometimes I think you don't quite understand
yourself. Don't you know that you are very pretty and very charming?
I've told you that often enough! But shouldn't you like to be a great
success in the world? Haven't you ever thought of that? Don't you care
for society?"

The girl sighed. "Yes, I think that's all very nice I did ca'e, one
while, there in Florence, last winter!"

"My dear, you don't know how much you were admired. I used to tell you,
because I saw there was no spoiling you; but I never told you half. If
you had only had the time for it you could have been the greatest sort
of success; you were formed for it. It wasn't your beauty alone; lots
of pretty girls don't make anything of their be