‘What a fool I was,’ she thought, ‘to expect him again! It was a passing fancy. He is naturally polite--that means, a little deceitful--and he could not have said anything rough or rude if he had tried. But he will never come again. It is not likely. I was most foolish to be so glad to see him. I might have known it would bring me nothing but pain and sorrow. I wish we had not met again, and then, if I had not had the pleasure, I should not have had the pain either. I had almost given over thinking of him, and now I have nothing else to think of, and he has everything else. Why did he come and spend that one evening, and brighten everything, and take me into another world, and force me to like him? Why did he ask my advice--as if he wanted it? It was too bad, and I was a fool. But I always was that. He is not shallow--no, it is not that. It is simply that his life is a full one, and mine is an empty one, and that what to him is a chance meeting--a passing act of politeness, is to me a great event--a thing to think about. I wish I had a great deal to do--a work, a regular career. Soon, if these miserable, restless feelings do not leave me, I must bestir myself, and find something more absorbing than this teaching. I have been more dissatisfied ever since I knew that he had the prospect of making himself a name and an influence. And I will do something, too. There must be things to be done; there must be some way of curing this sentimental folly--some way of working it out, till nothing is left of it. I will find a way, or I will die.’ She started as the door opened, and Mrs. Galloway, the mother of her pupils, entered. ‘Are you sitting moping, Miss Spenceley? You should never mope,’ said she; ‘it is a very bad habit, and leads to all kinds of follies.’ ‘Does it?’ said Helena. ‘Yes, indeed,’ replied Mrs. Galloway, who did not look as if she moped much herself. She did not either speak or look unkindly; she was only devoid of tact and judgment. She held three books in her hands; and as she spoke she advanced to the window and looked out. ‘I am afraid it is not going to clear up,’ she began, looking first at the rain, and then at the books. Helena also expressed the same opinion. ‘I am rather in a dilemma,’ continued Mrs. Galloway. ‘Can I be of any help to you?’ ‘I was on my way to ask you to do something for me; but I had no idea how very wet it was, and I do not think it fit for you to go.’ ‘Was it to go out?’ asked Helena, wondering whether it would not be pleasanter to brave the elements than to return to her task of teaching the little Galloways that day. ‘The fact is, Mr. Galloway forgot to take the books to Mudie’s this morning, and we had arranged to have some reading aloud to-night, and----’ ‘I will go and change them for you with pleasure,’ said Helena, almost with animation; ‘only the children----’