companion, and as she smiled, her tears overflowed, and she wept in
silence for some minutes.

"My poor mademoiselle," she said, at last, "you are so very, very kind."

Mademoiselle said nothing; she lowered her eyes, and pressed the poor
lady's hand.

Apparently to interrupt an embarrassing silence, and to give a more
cheerful tone to their little interview, the governess, in a gay tone, on
a sudden said--

"And so, madame, we are to have a visitor, Miss Rhoda tells me--a
baronet, is he not?"

"Yes, indeed, mademoiselle--Sir Wynston Berkley, a gay London gentleman,
and a cousin of Mr. Marston's," she replied.

"Ha--a cousin!" exclaimed the young lady, with a little more surprise in
her tone than seemed altogether called for--"a cousin? oh, then, that is
the reason of his visit. Do, pray, madame, tell me all about him; I am so
much afraid of strangers, and what you call men of the world. Oh, dear
Mrs. Marston, I am not worthy to be here, and he will see all that in a
moment; indeed, indeed, I am afraid. Pray tell me all about him."

She said this with a simplicity which made the elder lady smile, and
while mademoiselle re-adjusted the tiny flowers which formed the bouquet
she had just presented to her, Mrs. Marston good-naturedly recounted to
her all she knew of Sir Wynston Berkley, which, in substance, amounted to
no more than we have already stated. When she concluded, the young