chose to cry for, nor why she should not take the children to the
kitchens where her friends abode, instead of keeping them out in the
air. She could not understand why she must not tell Una every half
hour that she was as fair as a lily, and that the little angels in
heaven cried for such hair as hers. And there was no rhyme or reason,
to her mind, why she could not have her friends visit in her nursery,
since, as she declared, the cook would hear all her secrets if she
received them in the kitchen. Her assurance that she thought me a
very nice lady, and that there never were two such children as mine,
failed to move my hard heart, and I was thankful when I got her out
of the house.

Temptation the third appeared, for a time, the perfection of a nurse.
She kept herself and the nursery and the children in most refreshing
order; she amused Una when she was more than usually unwell with a
perfect fund of innocent stories; the work flew from her nimble
fingers as if by magic. I boasted everywhere of my good luck, and
sang her praises in Ernest's ears till he believed in her with all
his heart. But one night we were out late; we had been spending the
evening at Aunty's, and came in with Ernest's night-key as quietly as
possible, in order not to arouse the children. I stole softly to the
nursery to see if all was going on well there. Bridget, it seems, had
taken the opportunity to wash her clothes in the nursery, and they
hung all about the room drying, a hot fire raging for the purpose. In
the midst of them, with a candle and prayer-book on a chair, Bridget
knelt fast asleep, the candle within an inch of her sleeve. Her
assurance when I aroused her that she was not asleep, but merely rapt
in devotion, did not soften my hard heart, nor was I moved by the
representation that she was a saint, and always wore black on that
account. I packed her off in anything but a saintly frame, and felt