“Then,” he continued, “it makes it very embarrassing that the tutor and family physician should both have fallen in love with you.”

“I think of leaving,” she continued, neither admitting nor contradicting his assertion.  “Forgive me:  you have spoken from the best motives, but I think you have made trouble,” she added hesitatingly.  “Mrs. Pinckney is now continually on the alert to prevent my working; she will no longer let little Harry sleep in my room; she orders the dinner for the first time since I’ve been in the house; the children are swooped off by Adele as soon as their school-hours are over; and everything is odd, strange and uncomfortable.  I think I must go away.  I wrote an advertisement to put in the papers:  perhaps you could do it for me?” she said timidly:  “I dread going to the offices.”

“Certainly,” he replied courteously, and put it in his pocket.

Colonel Pinckney appeared to share her depression, and he sat for some time silent:  then he said in an agitated voice, “It will be a sorrowful day for that house when you leave it:  I never knew such a transformation as you have effected.  Until this winter my only associations with it have been of dirt, gloom and disorder:  the children were neglected and fretful, the dinners shocking and ill served; and this with an army of servants and money spent ad libitum.  Now, on the contrary, the rooms are fresh, cheerful and agreeable; there are pleasant odors, bright fires, attractive meals; the children perfect both in appearance and manner; and all this owing to the influence—­perhaps I ought to say labors—­of one young, inexperienced girl.  I’ve always imagined I disliked efficient women:  I’ve changed my mind.  When I was young a fair, indolent creature, always well dressed and smiling, was my beau ideal:  now a brunette, bright and energetic—­some one who never thinks of herself, but is making everybody else happy and comfortable—­this is my present divinity.”  He smiled tenderly upon her.

Miss Featherstone endeavored to shake off her embarrassment.  He was a frank, kind-hearted man, entirely unlike his sister-in-law’s idea of him, with an exaggerated gratitude for her exertions in his brother’s family.  She would not be so silly as to imagine every man was being transformed into a lover.  “You are kinder to me than I deserve,” she said, then changed the conversation.

She expected to meet him as she took the train to return, but he was nowhere to be seen.  He did not even appear when the train stopped, and she had a solitary drive to the house.

“Did you know that Dick had gone?” said Mrs. Pinckney at the dinner-table, levelling scrutinizing glances from her lovely blue eyes.

“No,” answered the governess with sudden depression and embarrassment:  “he said nothing about leaving this morning.  You know Colonel Pinckney went to New York in the train that I did.”

“You didn’t see him after your arrival?”