"She is upstairs," said Mary. "I will call her."

She began throwing gravel at one of the upper windows, and crying out,
"Auntie! Auntie!"

The sash was immediately thrown (no, that is too violent a word--say
lifted) up, and a beautiful old lady's face appeared at the window.

"My love," it said, in a small, soft voice, "pray be careful of the
windows. Did you want anything, my dear?"

"I want you out for a walk, Auntie; so come along."

"Certainly, my love. Brother, have you got your thick kerchief in your
pocket?"

"No," said the Vicar, "I have not, and I don't mean to have."

Commencement of a sore-throat lecture from the window, cut short by the
Vicar, who says,--

"My dear, I shall be late if you don't come;" (jesuitically on his
part, for he was going nowhere.)

So she comes accordingly, as sweet-looking an old maid as ever you saw
in your life. People have no right to use up such beautiful women as
governesses. It's a sheer waste of material. Miss Thornton had been a
governess all her life; and now, at the age of five-and-forty, had come
to keep her brother's house for him, add her savings to his, and put
the finishingtouch on Mary's somewhat rough education.