When it first began--and that is so long ago that I can scarcely remember, nearly a year, though--Mr. McAlpin would talk to me about the children. I felt proud to answer him, dear little things; and I knew he liked them, and Allan is his brother's godchild, and Robert is Eleanor's. I am afraid that is where I was wrong: when he came talking, evening after evening, I should have been on my guard, and begged Susan to excuse me from appearing as often as she would. The great evil lies in my having consented to appear at all in company. For two years after I came out--oh, more than that; it must have been nearly three--I resolutely refused to join them when they were not alone. It was Major Layne's fault that the rule was broken through. One day, when invitations were out for an evening party, Susan came to me and said that the major particularly requested I would appear at it. "The fact is, Mary," she whispered, "there has been some talk at the mess: you are very much admired--your face, I mean--and some of them began wondering whether there was any _reason_ for your never appearing in society; and whether you could really be my sister. Richard was not present--that goes without saying--the colonel repeated it to him afterwards in a joking way. But what the major says is this, Mary--that he knows India and gossiping tongues better than you do, and he desires for all our sakes, for yours of course especially, that you will now and then show yourself with us. You are to begin next Tuesday evening. Richard _begs_ you will. And I have been getting you a black net dress, with a little white lace for the body--you cannot say that's too fine." The words "for all our sakes" decided it; and I said I would certainly obey Major Layne. What else could I do? That was the beginning of it. Though I go out scarcely ever with the major and Susan, declining invitations on the plea of my duties as governess, it has certainly grown into a habit with me to spend my evenings with them when they are at home.