The two old ladies' hands shook a little when they took these offerings; they both thanked her, after which Miss Helen rose to take formal farewell of Mavis. She spoke the words that she always made use of when taking final leave of a pupil; usually, they came trippingly to her tongue, without the least effort of memory; but this morning they halted; she found herself wondering if her dignity were being compromised in Mavis's eyes. "Dear Mavis," she said, "in--in issuing from the doors--er--portals of Brandenburg College to the new er--er--world that awaits you beyond, you--you may rest assured that you carry--" The old lady stopped; she did not say any more; she sat down and seemed to be carefully wiping her spectacles. Mavis rose to go, girl-like; she hated anything in the nature of a scene, especially when made over such an insignificant person as herself. At the same time, her farewell of the two old ladies, with whom she had lived for so long, affected her far more than she would ever have thought possible. Halfway to the door, she hesitated; the noise made by Miss Annie blowing her nose decided her. In a moment, she had placed her arms about Miss Helen and Miss Annie, and all three women were weeping to their hearts' content. Some seventy minutes later, it was two very forlorn-looking old ladies who stumbled into the train that was to take them to Worthing. Meanwhile, Mavis had packed her few remaining things and had gone down to the kitchen to say good-bye to Amelia. Directly Amelia caught sight of her and she burst into tears. Mavis, somewhat disconcerted by this evidence of esteem, gave Amelia five shillings, at which the servant wept the more. "Oh, miss! what shall I do without you?" "You'll get on all right. Besides, you're going for a holiday to Southend." "Moind you let me come to you when you're married," sobbed Amelia. "I shouldn't count on that if I were you." "Do 'ave me, miss. I'll always troi and 'and things so no one sees my bad oye." "It isn't that I don't want you; but it's so unlikely that I shall ever have a home." Mavis offered her hand. Amelia wiped her wet hand (she had been washing up) upon her apron before taking it. "Oh, miss, you are good to me, and you a reel lydy." "Be a good girl and look after your mistresses." "That I will, miss. Whatever should I sy to that there Mr. Fuskin, when I meet 'im in 'eaven, if I didn't?" "Good-bye, Amelia." "There! I forgot," cried Amelia. She went to the drawer of the dresser and brought out something wrapped in tissue paper. Mavis undid this, to find Amelia's offering to consist of a silver brooch forming the word "May." "It's the nearest I could get to your nime, miss," she explained. "Thank you so much." "It ain't good enough for you: nothin' ain't good enough for you. Wasn't you loved by the music master, 'im who was so lovely and dark?" wept Amelia.