“I don’t know that I wouldn’t. I would try it myself, rather than endeavor to cram knowledge into the heads of little fools who will never be any the better for it.” “Oh, don’t say that,” she entreated. “It is just what I am tempted to think myself sometimes; but, if I gave way and really did believe I wasn’t doing them any good at all, just think what a martyrdom my life would be!” “So it is,” said he, looking with his eyes a stronger meaning than his words bore. She cast hers down and blushed. She had all a girl’s thirst for admiration, and the unaccustomed attention of a handsome man threw fresh charm into her manner, brightened her eyes, and made her lovelier than she dreamed. “If not the Thames, what is there--what profession?” she asked as his eyes answered her. “Well, there is the stage.” “The stage!” she echoed, in horror. “You wouldn’t advise that, surely!” “You speak of it with more horror than of the Thames.” “Why, yes! I’d rather be a corpse than an actress!” “But you wouldn’t have such a lively time of it,” said he, dryly. “But, oh, to be stared at by everybody, and to paint, and be among horrid people, and for everybody else to look down upon you, and----Oh, I should not like it at all.” “Well, isn’t it better to be looked at by everybody than not to be looked at, at all? But I suggested it only as an alternative to the Thames. Seriously, the Vicarage schoolroom must be a dull place.” “It is. But I am going to leave it,” she answered, looking away, and her face flushing. “Are you? I thought you would not be able to stand it long. You may do much better, and, at any rate, you have the satisfaction of knowing that you can’t do worse.” “I don’t know about that,” said she, very gravely. “At any rate, you will have a pleasant holiday among your friends first.” She gave a rather grim smile. “I don’t know about that, either. A semi-detached villa in the suburbs, among a family of children compared to whom the Mainwarings are angels, is not the place one would choose for a holiday.” “You have a lot of young brothers and sisters, then?” “Oh, no, I have none! I am an orphan; so I have to spend my spare time with an aunt who doesn’t particularly want me.” “That is hard lines. Then you will teach again?” “Yes, if I can get any pupils,” said she, rather sadly, thinking how much the shortness of her stay at the Vicarage would be against her chances of getting another engagement. “Not like this, though! I shall take lodgings in London and try to get daily pupils, for music, perhaps. Then I shall have more time to myself, and I can study better.” “But you know enough already; and you will be frightfully dull if you live by yourself.” “Not so dull as I am here. And, when I have got on with music and other things, I shall take another resident engagement--abroad this time. I think I should like to go to Russia or Canada.” “Have you many friends in London?”