"No," said Mara, in so unemotional a fashion that Patricia felt chilled. "I like you, as you don't worry me. Miss Tibbets always worried me with lessons." "But you must be educated, Mara?" "Why? I don't see the use of learning things." Patricia looked at her curiously, for although she had been studying the girl for several days, Mara was still an enigma to her. Mr. Colpster's only daughter and only child was undersized and slim, graceful in figure and movements, and clever enough, in spite of her dreamy ways, to look after herself in a very thorough fashion. Patricia did not at all agree with Mrs. Sellars' use of the word "weak" as applied to Mara, for that young lady made shrewd remarks at times which showed a capable character. But there was something decidedly elfish about the girl, both in looks and ways. Mara's pale golden locks and pale blue eyes and pale complexion presented her to the onlooker as a somewhat shadowy creature. Her silent movements and low voice and frequent lack of conversation gave the same impression. Patricia could not get near the shy soul clothed in this fragile, tintless body. She seemed to be scarcely human, but to be compounded of moonlight and grey mist, containing in herself all that was melancholy in Nature. The warmth and tropical luxuriance of Beckleigh did not suit her personality. She should have been placed in some sad, antique temple, isolated on a lonely plain, and under sombre skies. The Irish girl was warm, human, life-loving and affectionate, so it was difficult to make friends with this Undine, so chill and distant in her ways and looks. Patricia began to think that, after all, the salary she had thought so large was not too much, seeing that she had to warm this statue into life. But how to set about the task she did not know. "What do you like doing?" she asked, as they walked towards the house. "Nothing." "Don't you get bored?" "Not at all; I--" Mara hesitated, then turned her pale blue eyes on the flushed and lovely face of her companion--"I dream," she said quietly. "What do you dream about?" asked Patricia curiously. Mara passed her pale hand across her pale forehead. "I can hardly tell you," she said in her low voice, which suggested softly breathing midnight winds; "there is something wanting." "Something wanting?" "To bring back that which I dream about." "But what do you dream about?" persisted Miss Carrol, more puzzled than ever, as she looked at Mara's pale, pathetic face. "The something will tell me when it brings it back." "Brings what back?" "That which I dream about?" "And that is----?" "I don't know."