“I should like to get right away from here,” I continued. “I should like to go to London. I don’t know exactly what work I am fitted for; I should find that out in time. I took a good degree at Heidelberg, but I should hate to be a governess. I thought perhaps you might be able to suggest something.” A sudden light had flashed into her face in the middle of my little speech. Evidently some thought had occurred to her which she hesitated to confide to me. When I had finished she looked at me half nervously, half doubtfully. She seemed to be on the point of suggesting something, yet she hesitated. “If there is anything which has occurred to you,” I begged her, “do not mind letting me hear it, at any rate. I am not afraid to work, and I shall not be very particular as to its exact nature so long as it does not altogether deprive me of my liberty.” “I was wondering,” she said, looking at me keenly, and with a faint color in her cheeks--”I was wondering whether you would care to accept a post as my secretary. I am really in urgent want of one,” she added, quickly; “I wrote out an advertisement to send to the _Guardian_ last week.” “Your secretary?” I repeated, slowly. “Yes; you would have to learn typewriting, and it would be dry work. But, on the other hand, you would have a good deal of time to yourself. You would be to a very large extent your own mistress.” I scarcely knew how to answer her, yet on the whole the idea was an attractive one to me. She saw me hesitate, but she saw also that it was by no means in displeasure. Before I could find anything to say she spoke again. “At any rate, think of it,” she suggested. “Don’t decide all at once. You would live with me, of course, and I could give you sixty pounds a year. It does not seem much, but you would scarcely get more than that to start with at anything. Listen! Isn’t that Mr. Deville?” I sprang up and moved towards the door. “I thought you told me that you were not expecting him to-day!” I exclaimed. She looked at me in surprise. “I was not expecting him--in fact, he told me that he was going to Mellborough. But does it matter? Don’t you want to see him?” “No!” I cried, breathlessly; “he is coming across the lawn. I am going out the other way. Goodbye.” “Why, what has poor Bruce done to offend you?” she cried, in some concern. “I thought you were getting such friends.” “He has not offended me,” I answered, quickly. “Only I don’t want to see him to-day. Goodbye.” I ran down the path, leaving her standing at the front door. I just saw the back of Bruce Deville’s Norfolk coat as he entered the house by the French windows, and I hoped that I had escaped him. But before I was half way through the little plantation I heard firm footsteps behind me and then a voice-- “Good afternoon, Miss Ffolliot!” “Good afternoon, Mr. Deville,” I answered, without looking round.