typewritten, Rose. He said it would be cheaper. Could you give me the
address of Miss Sampson, Miss Smythe?"

"I shouldn't advise you to employ her, Miss Merivale," returned Pauline in
a voice that had a sharp edge to it. For some reason or other, Clare's
assistant was evidently not a favourite of hers. "I don't believe she
knows her business properly. Lady Desborough's sister picked her up for
Clare."

"I might try her. Could you give me her address, my dear?"

Pauline opened her eyes. It was utterly unlike Miss Merivale to be so
persistent. "I am afraid I can't, Miss Merivale. I know nothing whatever
about her, except that she has just come from Australia with some
relations who kept a small shop out there. It was foolish of Mrs. Metcalfe
to send us such a person. There are so many ladies who would be glad to do
the work."

Miss Merivale had caught her breath sharply as Pauline mentioned
Australia, but neither of the girls noticed her agitation. Rose had
wandered to the window, and was looking with delight at the vast expanse
of chimney-tops, and the little glimpse of the river, grey under the cold
March sky. And Pauline was slowly stirring her tea, with her eyes cast
down. She was thinking whether it would be wise to drop a hint about
Rose's unhappiness at Woodcote. She had just made up her mind to say a
guarded word or two, when she found, to her sharp annoyance, that Miss
Merivale's mind was still running on Rhoda Sampson.

"She comes here three times a week, I think you said, my dear?" asked Miss
Merivale in her gentle voice. "Does she come in the mornings? She has her