"Yes, indeed, I am certain of it. Mrs. Morris is not exactly what she makes believe to be. It's perfectly clear to me that there is something or other in her past that she is bent on hiding. If one asked any questions—the most innocent questions—she kept slipping away from the subject, and would tell nothing. And why should she? If there was nothing to conceal, why should she conceal it?" "People do not commonly care to pour out to strangers," the Squire observed dryly. "But Miss Stirling was not a stranger. And then there is her face—the extraordinary unlikeness to what is said to be her picture when she was a girl. Really, quite unbelievable. People do alter—but there are limits. And I have serious doubts—" "Doubts?" "Whether in point of fact she is Nurse Morris at all! If you had seen how she tried to shirk the question—how she showed no pleasure or gratitude for your niece's kindness—how she seemed to shrink from every allusion to her past—you would understand. Why should she not be somebody else—just posing as Nurse Morris? The real Nurse Morris may have died. The man may have married a second time." The Squire smiled again dryly. "I am afraid your interesting theory is not likely to be true. I happen to have followed Nurse Morris's career, and never for any length of time to have lost sight of her. She is hardly worth the trouble of exercising your imagination upon so vividly." Mrs. Brutt was dimly conscious of being rebuked; and Mr. Stirling, dropping that subject as unimportant, introduced another. He referred to the idea she had mooted, of taking Doris abroad. Had she seriously meant it? He had given the matter some consideration, and he was inclined to agree with her in thinking it a wise plan for the girl. It might do her good in more ways than one. Mrs. Brutt echoed and enlarged upon his words. Mentally, so good!— so wholesome!—so widening!—so precisely what the dear child needed! She could speak from her own experience of the effects of foreign travel upon the mental make. The Squire did not care a "ha'p'orth" for the widow's mental make; but he listened with patience. Mrs. Brutt poured on. The dear girl was really too much "sat upon" in her present sphere. Of course this was quite between themselves. Doris needed training, widening, developing—didn't he think? Exactly as Mrs. Brutt in the past had been trained, widened, developed. She held up her own mind for inspection, as a proof. And nothing would charm her more than to take that dear enchanting girl abroad—if only it were possible. "But I ventured one day to put out a feeler at the Rectory, and I found it to be hopeless. Mr. Winton set his foot down, quite conclusively. Said he saw no need, and could not afford it."