“Papa,” I cried, forgetting my governess, “mamma is tired; look at her face.”

Miss Reinhart rose at once and seemed to float to the sofa.  “I am afraid,” she said, “that I deserve rebuke.  I was so anxious to cheer you that I fear I have tired you.  Shall I take Miss Laura with me, or would you like to have her a little longer?”

My mother grasped my hand.  “You are very kind,” she said to Miss Reinhart, “but I am weak and nervous; so little tires me.”

“Yes, it is very sad,” she answered, in cold, sweet tones.

I hated her voice, I hated her sweetness, I hated her.  Child as I was, a tempest of scorn and grief and bitter rebellion raged within me.  Why should she stand there in what seemed to me the insolent pride of her beauty, while my sweet mother was never to stand again?  Why should she speak in those pitying tones?  My mother did not need her pity.  Then my father came up, too, and said that Miss Reinhart had better delay for a few days before beginning the routine of her duties so as to get used to the place.  She seemed quite willing.

“Laura,” said Sir Roland, “will you take Miss Reinhart to her room?”

But I clung to my mother’s hand.

“I cannot leave mamma,” I said.  “Please do not ask me.”

He turned from me with an apology.

“Laura can never leave her mother,” he said.

She answered: 

“Laura is quite right.”

But I caught just one glimpse of her beautiful eyes, which made me thoughtful.

She went, and my father was quite silent for some minutes afterward.  Then my mother asked: 

“What do you think of her, Roland?”

“Well, my darling, she is really so different to what I had expected, I can hardly form a judgment.  I thought to see a crude kind of girl.  Miss Reinhart is a very beautiful woman of the world, as graceful, well-bred and self-possessed as a duchess.”

“She is not half so beautiful as mamma,” I cried.

“No, little faithful heart; not one-half,” said Sir Roland.

“I must say that she seems to me far more like a fine lady visitor than a governess,” said my mother.

“You will find her all right,” said Sir Roland, brightly.  “She seems to understand her duties and to be quite competent for them.  I fancy you will like her Beatrice, darling; after all, it will be some thing to have some one to amuse us.  How well she tells a story! with what brilliancy and verve!”

“I want no more amusement than I find with you and Laura,” said my mother.  “You are all-sufficient to me.  Still, as you say, dear, it is well to have a pleasant companion.”

Then, as my mother was tired, her maid came, and Sir Roland said, “Good-night.”

I remember how we both felt sad and lonely, though we could not quite tell why; and that my beautiful mother fell fast asleep, holding my hand in hers; and that they would not take me away, lest they should awake her.