We had talked about her and wondered what she would be like. I had
always pictured her as a girl many years older than myself, but still a
girl, with a certain consciousness and shyness about her. I had expected
that she would stand in awe of my mother at first, and be, perhaps,
impressed with the grandeur of Tayne Abbey. When the time came to say
that Miss Reinhart would be glad to see Lady Tayne, and Sir Roland
brought the strange lady into the room, I was silently in utter amaze.
This was no school-girl, no half-conscious, half-shy governess,
impressed and awe-struck. There floated, rather than walked, into the
room a beautiful woman, with dark draperies falling gracefully around
her, a beautiful, self-possessed woman, whose every motion was harmony.
She looked straight at my mother; one quick glance of her dark eyes
seemed to take in every detail of the fair face and figure on the couch.
She held out her hand white as my mother's own, and said:

"I am grieved to find you so ill, Lady Tayne, I hope I may be of good
service to you."

"Thank you," said my mother's sweet voice, as their hands for one moment
met.

Then the beautiful dark face turned to me.

"And this is my pupil," she said. "I hope we shall be good friends."

I had an uneasy sense that she was patronizing us. I looked across at my
father. He was watching her with keen admiration on his face. I--with a
child's keen instinct--had drawn nearer to my mother, as though to
protect her. Then Sir Roland placed a chair for Miss Reinhart near my
mother's sofa. She thanked him with a smile, and took it with the grace