“Very well,” said Miss Munroe, tightening her lips. “I’ll write to some people that I know in Washington,” Helen resumed, speaking gently, “and see if they may not have a position for you. Their children----” “Oh, I’d rather not live in Washington again,” Miss Munroe interrupted with dignity. “I thought you liked it,” Helen said with surprise. “Not after what I know about it,” Miss Munroe explained, and Helen flushed deeply. Could it be that this girl was covertly trying to wound her? She decided to ignore the suspicion; but it made her rise from her seat to indicate that the interview had ended. Two days later the children ran downstairs to their mother, crying bitterly. It happened that they met the father on the stairs. “What’s the matter?” he asked, and Helen, from her room, noticed the pain in his voice. “Miss Munroe is going away,” they both exclaimed together, and Dorothy added: “She says she’s never coming back again.” “An’ she says we can’t come to see her,” Jack cried. At sight of Helen in the lower hall, they ran past their father down the stairs. “What does this mean?” Briggs asked angrily over the balusters, and Helen, unable to control the indignation she felt against the governess, replied, “I don’t know,” and, putting her arms across the shoulders of the children, she led them into the room and closed the door behind her. Briggs hesitated for a moment, his face white with anger. He was tempted to go down the stairs, force open the door of Helen’s room and give vent to his feelings. But he checked himself. Then he had a second impulse, and he dashed up the stairs to the nursery. He found Miss Munroe standing in the middle of the room, in tears. She had evidently been listening at the half-open door. “What have you been saying to those children?” he asked sternly. Miss Munroe began to sob. “They asked me this morning if it was true that I was going away.” Her head began to move convulsively backward and forward. “Who told them you were going away?” “I don’t know, sir. I only know that I didn’t. I promised Mrs. Briggs that I wouldn’t.” “But you’ve told some of the servants, haven’t you?” “Well, I--I did mention it to----” “That’s enough!” Briggs exclaimed. “You ought to have known better.” He hesitated, with a look of despair in his face. “Well, now that they know it, we’ll have no peace with the children till you go.” Miss Munroe stopped crying. She seemed to grow an inch taller. “I am ready to leave at once, sir,” she said. “Well!” Briggs knotted his forehead in perplexity. After all, the poor girl had been good to the children. It would be cruel to send her away like that. But he quailed at the thought of Dorothy’s wailings and questionings and complaints.