"Stay indoors; don't go roaming about at dark," he emphatically said. "And now I have another request to make to you, Miss Hereford." "What is it, sir?" "That you will leave off calling me 'sir.' It does not sound well on your lips." He smiled as he spoke. And I blushed until I was ashamed of myself. "Have you any love for the appellation?" "No, indeed! But Madame de Mellissie——" "Just so," he interrupted. "I suspected as much. You would not have fallen into it yourself." "I don't know that, sir." "Sir?" "It was a slip of the tongue. I used to say 'Sir' and 'Madam' to Mr. and Mrs. Paler. I was told to do so when I went there as governess." "Well, you are not governess here, and we can dispense with it. Good morning!" he added, as we neared the gates. "It is too bad to bring you so far, and send you back alone." "Are you not coming to breakfast, sir?" Another slip. "My breakfast was taken an hour ago. I am going to see how Mrs. Freeman is. You will be condemned to make a solitary breakfast this morning. Good-bye!" A very pleasant one, for all that. It _is_ pleasant to live amidst the luxuries of life. The fare of a governess had been exchanged for the liberal table of Chandos. Not that I cared much what I ate and drank: I was young and healthy; but I did like the ease and refinement, the state and the innocent vanities pertaining to the order of the Chandos world. Half sitting, half lying in one of the garden-chairs in the balmy sunshine, I partly read and partly dreamed away the morning. The house was within view; servants and comers passed to it within hail; cheery voices could be heard; snatches of laughter now and again. On that side all was busy life; on the other lay the silent mass of trees that surrounded Chandos. The sun was twinkling through their foliage; the glorious tints of ruddy autumn lighted them up. A charming tableau! Uncertain though my stay was, unusual and perhaps undesirable as the position was for a young girl, I was beginning to feel strangely happy in it. Madame de Mellissie did not come; another post in, that day, and no letter from her. And there I sat on unconcerned, in my pretty lilac muslin, with the ribbons in my chestnut hair, watching the little birds as they flew about singing; watching the gardener sweeping up his leaves at a distance; and feeling more joyous than the morning. I ought not to have felt so, I daresay, but I did, and broke out into snatches of song as gay as the birds. Tra la la la; tra la la la! Mr. Chandos passed to the house with a quick step, not seeing me. He was back, then; I followed, for it was the luncheon hour, and I was not on a sufficient footing at Chandos to keep meals waiting. Hill was in the oak-parlour, inquiring after the state of Mrs. Freeman.