I cannot say that I was prepossessed with the Thorne family, neither
was Carrie.

Mrs. Thorne was what I call a loud woman; her voice was loud, and
she was full of words, and rather inquisitive on the subject of her
neighbors.

She was somewhat good-looking, but decidedly over-dressed. Early as
it was, she was in a heavily-flounced silk dress, a little the worse
for wear. I guessed that first day, with a sort of feminine
intuition, that Mrs. Thorne wore out all her second-best clothes in
the morning. Perhaps it was my country bringing up, but I thought how
pure and fresh Carrie's modest dress looked beside it; and as for the
quiet face under the neatly-trimmed bonnet, I could see Mrs. Thorne
fell in love with it at once. She scarcely looked at or spoke to me,
except when civility demanded it; and perhaps she was right, for who
would care to look at me when Carrie was by? Then Carrie played, and
I knew her exquisite touch would demand instant admiration. I was a
mere bungler, a beginner beside her; she even sang a charming little
_chanson_. No wonder Mrs. Thorne was delighted to secure such an
accomplished person for her children's governess. The three little
girls came in by-and-by--shy, awkward children, with their mother's
black eyes, but without her fine complexion; plain, uninteresting
little girls, with a sort of solemn non-intelligence in their blank
countenances, and a perceptible shrinking from their mother's sharp
voice.

"Shake hands with Miss Cameron, Lucy; she is going to teach you all