Clara, you remember, had reached her eleventh year when her father's
brother died and left the legacy of which came so little profit.
That was in 1878. State education had recently made a show of
establishing itself, and in the Hewetts' world much argument was
going on with reference to the new Board schools, and their
advantages or disadvantages when compared with those in which
working-folk's children had hitherto been taught. Clara went to a
Church school, and the expense was greater than the new system
rendered necessary. Her father's principles naturally favoured
education on an independent basis, but a prejudice then (and still)
common among workpeople of decent habits made him hesitate about
sending his girl to sit side by side with the children of the
street; and he was confirmed by Clara's own view of the matter. She
spoke with much contempt of Board schools, and gave it to be
understood that her religious convictions would not suffer her to be
taught by those who made light of orthodoxy This attitude was
intelligible enough in a child of sharp wit and abundant
self-esteem. Notwithstanding her father's indifferentism, little
Clara perceived that a regard for religion gave her a certain
distinction at home, and elsewhere placed her apart from 'common
girls.' She was subject also to special influences: on the one hand,
from her favourite teacher, Miss Harrop; on the other, from a
school-friend, Grace Rudd.

Miss Harrop was a good, warm-hearted woman of about thirty, one of
those unhappy persons who are made for domestic life, but condemned
by fate to school-celibacy. Lonely and impulsive, she drew to
herself the most interesting girl in her classes, and, with complete
indiscretion, made a familiar, a pet, a prodigy of one whose