"Yes, he was; but Rebecca says he did not look ten years older than papa, and _he_ was very young indeed then," I answered. "It was well for mamma she did not like him, for I once heard Rebecca say that he was a very bad man." "Did you ever hear of mamma's aunt Lorrimer?" I resumed, after a little pause. "Not that I recollect." "She is very rich, Rebecca says. She has a house in London, but she is hardly ever there. She's not very old--not sixty. Rebecca is always wondering whom she will leave her money to; but that don't much matter, for I believe we have more than we want. Papa says, about ten years ago, she lived for nothing but society, and was everywhere; and now she has quite given up all that, and wanders about the Continent." Our conversation subsided; and there was a short interval in which neither spoke. "Why is it, Laura," said I, after this little silence, "that you never tell me anything about yourself, and I am always telling you everything I think or remember? Why are you so secret? Why don't you tell me your story?" "My story; what does it signify? I suppose it is about an average story. Some people are educated to be governesses; and some of us take to it later, or by accident; and we are amateurs, and do our best. The Jewish custom was wise; every one should learn a mechanic's business. Saint Paul was a tent-maker. If fortune upsets the boat, it is well to have anything to lay hold of--anything rather than drowning; an hospital matron, a companion, a governess, there are not many chances, when things go wrong, between a poor woman and the workhouse." "All this means, you will tell me nothing," I said. "I am a governess, darling. What does it matter what I was? I am happier with you than ever I thought I could be again. If I had a story that was pleasant to hear, there is no one on earth I would tell it to so readily; but my story---- There is no use in thinking over misfortune," she continued; "there is no greater waste of time than regretting, except wishing. I know, Ethel, you would not pain me. I can't talk about those things; I may another time." "You shan't speak of them, Laura, unless you wish it. I am ashamed of having bothered you so," I kissed her. "But, will you tell me one thing, for I am really curious about it? I have been thinking about that very peculiar-looking old gentleman, who wore a chocolate-coloured great-coat, and met us in the Mill Walk, and talked to you, you remember, on the Sunday we returned from church that way. Now, I want you to tell me, is that old man's name Rokestone?" "No, dear, it is not; I don't think he even knows him. But isn't it time for us to have our tea? Will you not make it, while I put our books up in the other room?" So I undertook this office, and was alone.