Stocmar was certainly not prepared for the appearance of the young girl who now rose to receive him with all the practised ease of the world. She was taller, older-looking, and far handsomer than he expected, and, as Mrs. Morris said, “Your guardian, Clara,” she courtesied deeply, and accepted his salutation at once with deference and reserve.
“I am in the most painful of all positions,” began he, with a courteous smile. “My first step in your acquaintance is as the ungracious herald of a separation from all you love.”
“I have been prepared, sir, for your intentions regarding me,” said she, coldly.
“Yes, Mr. Stocmar,” broke in Mrs. Morris, quickly, “though Clara is very young, she is thoroughly aware of our circumstances; she knows the narrowness of our fortune, and the necessity we are under of effort for our future support. Her own pride and her feeling for me are sufficient reasons for keeping such matters secret. She is not ignorant of the world, little as she has seen of it, and she comprehends that our acceptance with our friends is mainly dependent on our ability to dispense with their assistance.”
“Am I to be a governess, sir?” asked Clara, with a calm which the deathlike paleness of her face showed to have cost her dearly.
“A governess! a governess!” repeated he, looking at Mrs. Morris for his cue, for the suddenness of the question had routed all his preparations. “I think not,—I should hope not; indeed, I am enabled to say, there is no thought of that.”
“If so,” continued Clara, in the same calm tone, “I should like to be with very young children. I am not afraid of being thought menial.”
“Clara,” broke in Mrs. Morris, harshly, “Mr. Stocmar has already assured you that he does not contemplate this necessity.” She looked towards him as she spoke, and he at once saw it was his duty to come up to the rescue, and this he did with one of those efforts all his own. He launched forth boldly into generalities about education and its advantages; how, with the development of the mind and the extension of the resources, came new fields of exercise, fresh realms of conquest. “None of us, my dear young lady,” cried he, “not the worldliest nor the wisest of us, can ever tell when a particular acquirement will be the key-stone of our future fortune.” He illustrated his theory with copious instances. “There was Mademoiselle Justemar, whom nobody had ever imagined to be an artiste, came out as Alice one evening that the prima donna was ill, and took the whole town by storm. There was that little creature, Violetta; who ever fancied she could dance till they saw her as Titania? Every one knew of Giulia Barducci, taken from the chorus, to be the greatest Norma of the age.”