mother. However, if you like best to go and keep quiet in your own room,
you may do so."

"Or we can go into Susan's?"

"No," said the parson; "you must not disturb Susan."

"She never used to care about being disturbed. I wonder what's come to
her?"

The parson made no rejoinder to this half-petulant question. The
children consulted together a moment, and resolved that the square,
though so dull, was less dull than their own little attic. That being
decided, it was the mother's turn to address them. And though Mr.
Fielden was as anxious and fond as most fathers, he grew a little
impatient before comforters, kerchiefs, and muffettees were arranged, and
minute exordiums as to the danger of crossing the street, and the risk of
patting strange dogs, etc., were half-way concluded; with a shrug and a
smile, he at length fairly pushed out the children, shut the door, and
drew his chair close to his wife's.

"My dear," he began at once, "I am extremely uneasy about that poor
girl."

"What, Miss Clavering? Indeed, she eats almost nothing at all, and sits
so moping alone; but she sees Mr. Mainwaring every day. What can we do?
She is so proud, I'm afraid of her."

"My dear, I was not thinking of Miss Clavering, though I did not
interrupt you, for it is very true that she is much to be pitied."