father was speaking of her fine manners, say:

"We ought to be proud to have so grand a lady for governess."

Poor mamma, who knows the price she paid for a lady governess?

It was when these morning visits grew so long that I first began to
notice the tone in which Miss Reinhart spoke of my mother.

She would lean her beautiful head just a little forward, her eyes bright
with sweetest sympathy, her voice as beautifully sweet as the cooing of
the ring-dove.

"How is dear Lady Tayne this morning, Sir Roland?" she would ask.

"I am afraid there is little difference and no improvement," was his
reply.

"Ah, how sad--what a sad fate--so young and so afflicted. It must be
dreadful for you, Sir Roland. I sympathize so much with you. I never
quite lose sight of your troubles. I do not know that there could
possibly be a greater one."

At first my father would laugh, and say gently:

"Ah, yes, there could be one--it would be so much worse if my dear wife
had died."

But after a time he began to shake his head gravely as she shook hers,
and sigh as he answered: