"I don't know what is meant by 'old days.' I was born two years ago, just before Mrs. Hammond married, and was christened Ruth Gillespie. My mother was the Ladies' Association for Instructors, and she at once placed me where I am. Except this I have no past." "And your future?" "Can take care of itself: sufficient for the day, &c.; and the present days are very pleasant. There is no past for you either, is there? so far as I am concerned, I mean. I first saw Sir Charles Mitford when I was sitting in Mrs. Hammond's phaeton in the Park with my Shetland veil down, I recollect; and as I had heard the story of the romantic manner in which he had succeeded to the title and estates, I asked full particulars about him from--well--my mistress. I learned that he had married, and that his wife was reported to be very lovely--oh, very lovely indeed!" she almost purred as she said this, and undulated as though about to spring. "Be good enough to leave my wife's name alone. You say there is no past for either of us. Let our present be as wide asunder as possible." "That all rests with you." "I wonder," said Sir Charles, almost below his breath, "what infernal chance has sent you here!" "If 'infernal' were a word to be used by a lady--I doubt whether it should be used in a lady's presence; but that is a matter of taste--I should reiterate your sentiment; because, if you remark, you are the interloper and intruder. I am going on perfectly quietly, earning my living, giving every satisfaction to my employers,--living, in fact, like the virtuous peasant on the stage or in the penny romances,--when chance brings you into my line of life, and you at once grumble at me for being there." "You can understand fast enough, I suppose," said Sir Charles, sulkily, "that my associations with my former life are not such as I take great pleasure in recalling." "If a lady _might_ say such a word, I should say, upon my soul I can't understand any such thing. Though I go quietly enough in harness, and take my share of the collar-work too, they little think how I long sometimes to kick over the traces, to substitute Alfred de Musset for Fénelon in my pupil's reading, or to let my fingers and voice stray off from _Adeste Fideles_ into _Eh, ioup, ioup, ioup, tralala, lala!_ How it would astonish them! wouldn't it?--the files, I mean; not Mrs. Hammond, who knows everything, and I've no doubt would follow on with _Mon père est à Paris_ as naturally as possible." Sir Charles was by no means soothed by this rattle, but frowningly asked, "How long do you mean to remain here?" "How long? Well, my movements are of course controlled by Mrs. Hammond. It is betraying no confidence to say that I know she is expecting an invitation to Redmoor (you see I know the name of your place); and as this house is not particularly comfortable, and your hospitality is boundless, I conclude, when once we get there, we shall not leave much before we return to town for the season."