"What do you mean by not being particular about education? Most
people who keep governesses for their children are supposed to be
particular," said Lady Cuxhaven.
"Well, they think themselves so, I've no doubt; but I call you
particular, Mary, and I don't think mamma was; but she thought
herself so, I'm sure."
"I can't think what you mean, Harriet," said Lady Cumnor, a good deal
annoyed at this speech of her clever, heedless, youngest daughter.
"Oh dear, mamma, you did everything you could think of for us; but
you see you'd ever so many other engrossing interests, and Mary
hardly ever allows her love for her husband to interfere with her
all-absorbing care for the children. You gave us the best of masters
in every department, and Clare to dragonize and keep us up to
our preparation for them, as well as ever she could; but then you
know, or rather you didn't know, some of the masters admired our
very pretty governess, and there was a kind of respectable veiled
flirtation going on, which never came to anything, to be sure; and
then you were often so overwhelmed with your business as a great
lady--fashionable and benevolent, and all that sort of thing--that
you used to call Clare away from us at the most critical times of
our lessons, to write your notes, or add up your accounts, and the
consequence is, that I'm about the most ill-informed girl in London.
Only Mary was so capitally trained by good awkward Miss Benson, that
she is always full to overflowing with accurate knowledge, and her
glory is reflected upon me."
"Do you think what Harriet says is true, Mary?" asked Lady Cumnor,
rather anxiously.
"I was so little with Clare in the school-room. I used to read French
with her; she had a beautiful accent, I remember. Both Agnes and
Harriet were very fond of her. I used to be jealous for Miss Benson's
sake, and perhaps--" Lady Cuxhaven paused a minute--"that made me
fancy that she had a way of flattering and indulging them--not quite
conscientious, I used to think. But girls are severe judges, and
certainly she had had an anxious enough lifetime. I am always so glad
when we can have her, and give her a little pleasure. The only thing
that makes me uneasy now is the way in which she seems to send her
daughter away from her so much; we never can persuade her to bring
Cynthia with her when she comes to see us."
"Now that I call ill-natured," said Lady Harriet; "here is a poor
dear woman trying to earn her livelihood, first as a governess, and
what could she do with her daughter then, but send her to school? and
after that, when Clare is asked to go visiting, and is too modest
to bring her girl with her--besides all the expense of the journey,
and the rigging out--Mary finds fault with her for her modesty and
economy."