She was regarding me very intently, I knew, taking me in from the crumpled blue feather on my hat to the shockingly shabby boots still smoking on the fender. These I involuntarily withdrew, thinking to hide them under my gray dress. She saw the movement, guessed the intention, and said kindly: “Dry your boots, child. I see they are very wet Did you walk all the distance from Kensington here?” “Oh, no,” I answered; “only to and from the station, but the streets are very nasty to-day;” and then I looked at her more closely than I had done before. She was very tall, rather stout, and might have been anywhere from thirty-five to forty; certainly not younger. She had fine eyes, a good complexion, and very large hands, which, nevertheless, were shapely, soft and white, and loaded with diamonds. One splendid solitaire attracted my attention particularly from its peculiar brilliancy, and the nervous manner with which she kept touching it as she talked to me. She saw I was inspecting her, and allowed me time in which to do it; then she began abruptly, and in a tone slightly fault-finding: “You received my note, of course, or you would not be here, It was written a month ago, and as I heard nothing from you I naturally supposed you did not care for, or need, another pupil, so I have obtained a governess for Maude.” There was a choking sob in my throat which I forced down as I replied: “Oh, I am so sorry, for I do need scholars so much, oh, so much.” “Why didn’t you come, then?” she asked; and I told her how her letter had been two weeks at my lodgings before my return from the continent, and of the sickness which had followed my return. “And you live there all alone. Have you no friends, no relations anywhere?” she asked. “None since father and Aunt Esther died.” I said. “I have nobody but Cousin Tom, who is in India, and who never writes to me now. I think he has forgotten me. Yes, I am quite alone.” “I wonder you have never married in all these years,” was the next remark, and looking up at her I saw something in her face which went over me like a flash of revelation, and my voice shook a little as I repeated her last words, “Never married!” while my thoughts went back to Archie and the summer days when I waited for him, and he did not come, and that later time when Lady Darinda wrote me he was dead. Was this Lady Darinda? My eyes asked the question, and she answered me: “Perhaps my manner seems strange to you, Miss Burton; let me explain. I was wishing for a new teacher for my little Maude, one who was gentle and patient to children. A friend of mine, Mrs. Barrett, whose daughter you have taught, told me of you. The name attracted me, for I once knew of a Miss Norah Burton. I made inquiries, and learned that Jennie Barrett’s teacher and Miss Norah Burton of the Oaks, Middlesex, were one and the same. I wanted to see you, and so I wrote the note.”