And with these thoughts, mingled in the hearts of both her companions, a manly pity for this young creature, apparently so alone in the world, and already, at the age when most girls think of nothing but pleasure and amusement, working, if not for her daily bread, at least towards her own or her friends’ support. “For surely no girl would be a governess if she could help it,” thought Ralph, as ever and anon the curious, indefinable inconsistency struck him between this girl herself and her avowed position. “Here we are,” exclaimed he, rather dolefully, as the carriage stopped at the little inn at Berlet, where all vehicles “arrested themselves,” a Monsieur De l’Orme called it. The ascent of the hill, from the top of which was the far-famed view, could only be managed on foot or donkey-back. Some of the elderly and more ponderous ladies had preferred the latter safe, though inglorious, mode of conveyance, and had already set off by a more circuitous path. The younger members of the party, intending to climb up the most direct way, were just about starting, when the last carriage, containing our happy little party arrived. As Marion was stepping out, she heard herself addressed by name: “Miss Freer,” said a voice beside her, “I cannot understand how it is that you and the girls came in this carriage. There must have been some strange mistake, which you should have rectified. Lady Severn is not a little annoyed at it, for she particularly wished you and your pupils to come alone,” with a strong accent on the last word. Marion turned round, her cheeks pale with the paleness that tells of deeper indignation than quick mantling crimson. “Miss Vyse,” she said quietly, “I do not understand you. If Lady Severn has anything to find fault with in me, I am perfectly ready to hear it. But—” The words were taken out of her mouth by Mr. Price, who standing beside her had, unawares, heard the little conversation. “I think, indeed,” he said, “there has been some mistake. Miss Freer took her seat in the carriage in which she was asked to place herself. On these occasions little contre-temps are apt to occur. I myself did a very stupid thing, for I was as nearly as possible left behind altogether.” Instantly Florence turned round, her face radiant with smiles: “Oh. Mr. Price,” she said, “I hope you don’t think me so silly as to be cross about a trifle; but you don’t know how particular Lady Severn is in all arrangements about the children, and I was so afraid of her thinking either Miss Freer or I had neglected her wishes.” Mr. Price looked puzzled but said nothing. However, he resolutely attached himself to Marion; as the party dispersed into twos or threes, to begin the ascent. Sybil clung to Marion, who felt some misgivings as to how the little creature would get to the top, when a cheerful “halloo” behind them made her glance round.