"And I happen to know a most charming family in England--extremely kind, refined, and well connected. They are looking for a companion, to educate with their little girl Madge." "Oh, do you think that would answer?" "Yes, quite admirably. The Melvilles are my own cousins--not wealthy. They would, of course, expect handsome terms, and for these, the child would have every care, the best of teachers, a delightful country home, and a playmate of her own age." Madame, who was still smarting from exorbitant charges, and penetrated with the dread of measles and chicken-pox, lent a ready ear to Lady Wallsend's not wholly disinterested suggestion; preliminaries were arranged, and Verona Chandos, a Frenchified, dressy, self-possessed little personage, was duly received at Halstead Manor. Here she lived as one of the family for nine happy years, sharing all the joys and sorrows, games and lessons, of her friend Madge; and being an orphan, was from the first adopted into the motherly heart of Mrs. Melville. Madame de Godez did not lose sight of her _protégée_. During the London season she travelled to England, and carried off Verona for a sensational holiday; but when the girl was seventeen, and gave promise of remarkable beauty, her adopted mother promptly claimed her, loudly announcing that "life was no longer possible without her adored child." Here was the first serious trouble in Verona's life. She felt almost heartbroken as she and Madge went round, arm in arm, paying farewell visits in the village, the stable yard--not forgetting the seagull, and the tortoise in the garden. Their tears flowed fast as they separated their respective treasures in the old schoolroom, but Madame de Godez laughed at their sorrows, and believed that she had stifled every regret when she presented each of the mourners with a fine pearl necklace. In spite of Madame's mock sympathy and real pearls, Verona found it a painful wrench to bid good-bye to her beloved country home, with all its happy associations, and to go forth into the blare and glare of the great world, and the fierce white light which beats upon a beauty, and an heiress. * * * * * When Verona had assisted Pauline to put her mistress to bed--a lengthy and intricate process--when she had put everything in the way of salts, lozenges, and refreshment, within the patient's reach, lit a night-lamp and turned off the electric light, she returned to the drawing-room and sat down before the fire. Here she remained in one thoughtful attitude for a long time. As she leant her cheek on her hand, the firelight on the wall made a clear-cut silhouette of her graceful, motionless figure.