Mrs. Morgan was a thin, tremulous woman, with watery eyes and a singular redness about the prominent part of her face, which seemed to indicate a determination of blood to the nose. All her married life had been spent in a cheerless struggle to maintain the externals of gentility. Not that she was vain or frivolous--indeed her natural tendencies made for homeliness in everything--but, by birth and by marriage connected with genteel people, she felt it impossible to abandon that mode of living which is supposed to distinguish the educated class from all beneath it. She had brought into the world three sons and three daughters; of the former, two were dead, and of the latter, one,--in each case, poverty of diet having proved fatal to a weak constitution. For close upon thirty years the family had lived in houses of which the rent was out of all reasonable proportion to their means; at present, with a total income of one hundred and sixty pounds (Mr. Morgan called himself a commission agent, and seldom had anything to do), they paid in rent and rates a matter of fifty-five, and bemoaned the fate which neighboured them with people only by courtesy to be called gentlefolk. Of course they kept a servant,--her wages nine pounds a year. Whilst the mother and elder daughter were at Teignmouth, Mr Morgan, his son, and the younger girl felt themselves justified in making up for lack of holiday by an extra supply of butcher’s meat. Well-meaning, but with as little discretion in this as in other things, Mrs. Morgan allowed scarce an hour of the day to pass without uttering her gratitude to Nancy Lord for the benefit she was enjoying. To escape these oppressive thanks, Nancy did her best never to be alone with the poor lady; but a _tete-a-tete_ was occasionally unavoidable, as, for instance, on the third or fourth day after their arrival, when Mrs. Morgan had begged Nancy’s company for a walk on the Den, whilst Jessica wrote letters. At the end of a tedious hour Jessica joined them, and her face had an unwonted expression. She beckoned her friend apart. ‘You’ll be surprised. Who do you think is here?’ ‘No one that will bore us, I hope.’ ‘Mr. Tarrant. I met him near the post-office, and he stopped me.’ Nancy frowned. ‘Are they all here again?’ ‘No; he says he’s alone.--One minute, mamma; please excuse us.’ ‘He was surprised to see you?’ said Nancy, after reflecting. ‘He said so. But--I forgot to tell you--in a letter to Mrs. Baker I spoke of our plans. She had written to me to propose a pupil for after the holidays.--Perhaps she didn’t mention it to Mr. Tarrant.’ ‘Evidently not!’ Nancy exclaimed, with some impatience. ‘Why should you doubt his word?’ ‘I can’t help thinking’--Jessica smiled archly--‘that he has come just to meet--somebody.’ ‘Somebody? Who do you mean?’ asked her friend, with a look of sincere astonishment. ‘I may be mistaken’--a glance completed the suggestion. ‘Rubbish!’