“I don’t want one cent more than I at present receive,” replied the governess, kissing her fondly.

A few days after Colonel Pinckney—­a self-constituted committee, apparently, for the prevention of cruelty to governesses—­surprised Miss Featherstone in the school-room.  She was seated before the fire in a low chair, little Harry, who was fretful from a cold, lying on her lap, the other children clustered around her.  As he softly opened the door he heard these words:  “‘Blondine,’ replied the fairy Bienveillante sadly,’ no matter what you see or hear, do not lose courage or hope.’” As she told the story in low, drowsy tones she was also mending the heel of a little stocking.

“It is abominable!” the colonel cried:  “you are worn out with fatigue:  I hear it in your voice.  I called you a ‘white slave’ to Virginia:  nothing is truer.  You’ve today given out supplies from the store-room, you were in the kitchen a long time with the new cook, you set the lunch-table—­don’t deny it, for I saw you—­besides taking care of the children and hearing their lessons.”

“While Mrs. Pinckney is ill this is absolutely necessary,” she returned with decision:  “of course it makes some confusion having a new cook—­”

“Children,” he interrupted, “this seance is to be broken up:  scamper off to Adele to get ready:  I’ll ask mamma to let you drive to the station in the coupe to meet Mr. Brown:  there will certainly be room for such little folks.—­And as to you, Miss Featherstone, as head of the house pro tem.  I order you to put on your hat and cloak and walk in the garden for a while with me:  the paths are quite hard and dry.”

“Mamma! mamma! we are to drive to the station:  Uncle Dick says so,” shrieked the children, breaking up a delicious little doze into which Mrs. Pinckney had fallen while Adele sat at her sewing in the darkened room.

“Is Uncle Dick going with you?”

“No, he is going to walk in the garden with Miss Featherstone.”

Mrs. Pinckney felt quite cross:  “He is positively insolent, ordering things about in this way, interrupting my nap and all.  What, under Heaven, should I do without her if he is in earnest about Miss Featherstone?”

If she could have heard what Colonel Pinckney was saying in the garden she would have been still crosser.

“I want to enlighten you a little as to my fair sister-in-law,” he began after a few commonplaces.

“Oh, please don’t, Colonel Pinckney”—­unconsciously she was sliding into the “Colonel.”  “I’d much rather you wouldn’t.  I think—­” and she hesitated.

“What do you think?”

“Why”—­and she looked embarrassed—­“I am afraid I shall not love Mrs. Pinckney as well if you analyze and show up all her little weaknesses.  We could none of us bear it,” she continued warmly.  “Remember that line—­

  Be to her faults a little blind.

I like to love people, and feel like a woman in some novel I’ve read:  ’Long and deeply let me be beguiled with regard to the infirmities of those I love.’”