"I suppose so; but perhaps you hardly know how poor."

"Whenever the time comes, I shall be quite ready to work for papa," said
Clarissa; yet she could not help wondering how the master of Arden Court
could ever bring himself to send out his daughter as a governess; and
then she had a vague childish recollection that not tens of pounds, but
hundreds, and even thousands, had been wanted to stop the gaps in her
father's exchequer.

They drove through Holborough High Street, where there was the faint stir
and bustle of early morning, windows opening, a housemaid kneeling on a
doorstep here and there, an occasional tradesman taking down his shutters.
They drove past the fringe of prim little villas on the outskirts of the
town, and away along a country road towards Arden; and once more Clarissa
saw the things that she had dreamed of so often in her narrow white bed in
the bleak dormitory at Belforet. Every hedge-row and clump of trees
from which the withered leaves were drifting in the autumn wind, every
white-walled cottage with moss-grown thatch and rustic garden, woke a faint
rapture in her breast. It was home. She remembered her old friends the
cottagers, and wondered whether goody Mason were still alive, and whether
Widow Green's fair-haired children would remember her. She had taught
them at the Sunday-school; but they too must have grown from childhood to
womanhood, like herself, and were out at service, most likely, leaving Mrs.
Green's cottage lonely.

She thought of these simple things, poor child, having so little else to
think about, on this, her coming home. She was not so foolish as to expect
any warm welcome from her father. If he had brought himself just to
tolerate her coming, she had sufficient reason to be grateful. It was only
a drive of two miles from Holborough to Arden. They stopped at a lodge-gate