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Clarissa was a person of rare character, and a tower of strength in this household, where, from the lady of the house down to the lowest servant, her word was followed as law and obeyed with affection; and one took into the clear depths of her honest, loving eyes explained the secret of her power: they were "Mother's eyes." "Say 'yes, Clarissa, and let us go," begged the child, pathetically.
Granger; to which novel remarks Clarissa assented meekly. "There are people who attach a good deal of significance to that kind of thing," he said presently. "For my own part, if I were going to be married to the woman I loved, I should care little how black the sky above us might be. That sounds rather romantic for me, doesn't it? A man of fifty has no right to feel like that."
Clarissa started and drew back at sight of this tall stranger. "Mr. Granger," she thought, and tried to make her escape without being seen. The attempt was a failure. Lady Laura called to her. "Who is that in a white dress? Miss Lovel, I am sure. Come here, Clary what are you running away for? I want to introduce my friend Mr. Granger to you. Mr.
"It's like nothing else in the world! But where's your piano?" "It's in another room," Rachel explained. "But you will play to us?" Clarissa entreated. "I can't imagine anything nicer than to sit out in the moonlight and listen to music only that sounds too like a schoolgirl! You know," she said, turning to Helen, "I don't think music's altogether good for people I'm afraid not."
Granger impatiently: "I was speaking of Clarissa Lovel." Miss Granger drew herself up suddenly, and pinched her lips together as if they were never to unclose again. She did open them nevertheless, after a pause, to say in an icy tone, "Miss Lovel is my acquaintance, but not my friend." "Why should she not be your friend? She is a very charming girl."
There was perhaps less; for Clarissa Lovel had been interested in Geraldine Challoner, and she was not in the faintest degree interested in Miss Granger. The cold and shining surface of that young lady's character emitted no galvanic spark.
"I have had the advantage of papa's help since then," answered Clarissa, "and he is very clever. He does not read many authors, but those he does care for he reads with all his heart. He taught me to appreciate Dante, and to make myself familiar with the history of his age, in order to understand him better." "Very wise of him, no doubt.
An idea had grown upon him, springing from various sources, that Clarissa had not been indifferent to his brother, and that this feeling on her part had marred, and must continue to mar, his own happiness.
Mean while, they love and honour you and your opinions." To this the author of Clarissa replied by writing a long epistle deploring the pain he had given the "dear Ladies," and minutely justifying his foregone conclusions from the expressions they had used.
His second novel, which designs to set up a model man against the monster of iniquity in Pamela, is successful only so far as it exhibits the thoughts and feelings of the heroine whom he ultimately marries. His last, Clarissa Harlowe is a masterpiece of sympathetic divination into the feminine mind.
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