"Oh, when you please, only don't worry me. You had better take her off my hands at once. Just tell her that I am tired and have a headache, and won't see her until the morning; I really must lie down, and Hortense must bathe my forehead. If I don't I shall look a perfect wreck to-night, and it is going to be a big dinner; I have been anxious for some time to go. And afterwards there is a reception at the Chinese Embassy; I am going there also. Please ask Watson, on your way through the hall, to have tea sent to my boudoir. And now you quite understand?" "But, please, say exactly what I am to tell your little girl." "Don't you know? Say that her father has gone--oh, by the way, there's a letter for her. I really don't know that she ought to have it. Her father is sure to have said something terribly injudicious, but perhaps you had better give it to her. You might give it to her when you are telling her, and tell her to read it by-and-by, and not to be silly, but to be sensible. That is my message to her. Now pray go, Miss Winstead. Are you better? Have you had a nice time while we were away?" "I still suffer very badly with my head," said Miss Winstead, "but the quiet has done me good. Yes, I will try and do my best. I saw Mr. Ogilvie the day he left; he did not look well, and seemed sorrowful. He asked me to be kind to Sibyl." "I sincerely trust you are kind to the child; if I thought you did not treat her with sympathy and understanding I should be obliged----" "Oh, you need not go on," said Miss Winstead, coloring, and looking annoyed. "I know my duty. I am not a woman with very large sympathies, or perhaps very wide views, but I try to do my duty; I shall certainly do my utmost for your dear little daughter. There is something very lovable about her, although sometimes I fear I do not quite understand her." "No one seems to understand Sibyl, and yet everyone thinks her lovable," said the mother. "Well, give her my love; tell her I will ride with her in the morning. She has had a present of a pony, quite a ridiculous present; Lord Grayleigh was determined to give it to her. He took an immense fancy to the child, and put the gift in such a way that it would not have been wise to refuse. Don't forget, when you see Watson, to tell him to bring tea to my boudoir." Miss Winstead slowly left the room. She was a very quiet woman, about thirty-five years of age. She had a stolid manner, and, as she said herself, was a little narrow and a little old-fashioned, but she was troubled now. She did not like the task set her. As she went upstairs she muttered a solitary word. "Coward!" she said, under her breath. "I wish I was well out of this," thought the governess. "The child is not an ordinary one, and the love she bears her father is not an ordinary love."