“Oh, no!  I was taken into her school for nothing, and, young as I was, I was expected to earn my food and shelter by being fit to teach the lowest class.  The girls hated me.  It was such a wretched life that I hardly like to speak of it now.  I ran away, and I was caught, and severely punished.  When I grew older and wiser, I tried to find some other employment for myself.  The elder girls bought penny journals that published stories.  They were left about now and then in the bedrooms.  I read the stories when I had the chance.  Even my ignorance discovered how feeble and foolish they were.  They encouraged me to try if I could write a story myself; I couldn’t do worse, and I might do better.  I sent my manuscript to the editor.  It was accepted and printed—­but when I wrote and asked him if he would pay me something for it, he refused.  Dozens of ladies, he said, wrote stories for him for nothing.  It didn’t matter what the stories were.  Anything would do for his readers, so long as the characters were lords and ladies, and there was plenty of love in it.  My next attempt to get away from the school ended in another disappointment.  A poor old man, who had once been an actor, used to come to us twice a week, and get a few shillings by teaching the girls to read aloud.  He was called ’Professor of English Literature,’ and he taught out of a ragged book of verses which smelled of his pipe.  I learned one of the pieces and repeated it to him, and asked if there was any hope of my being able to go on the stage.  He was very kind; he told me the truth.  ’My dear, you have no dramatic ability; God forbid you should go on the stage.’  I went back again to the penny journals, and tried a new editor.  He seemed to have more money than the other one; or perhaps he was kinder.  I got ten shillings from him for my story.  With that money I made my last attempt—­I advertised for a situation as governess.  If Mr. Linley had not seen my advertisement, I might have starved in the streets.  When my aunt heard of it, she insisted on my begging her pardon before the whole school.  Do girls get half maddened by persecution?  If they do, I think I must have been one of those girls.  I refused to beg pardon; and I was dismissed from my situation without a character.  Will you think me very foolish?  I shut my eyes again, when I woke in my delicious bed today.  I was afraid that the room, and everything in it, was a dream.”  She looked round, and started to her feet.  “Oh, here’s a lady!  Shall I go away?”

The curtains hanging over the entrance to the library were opened for the second time.  With composure and dignity, the lady who had startled Sydney entered the room.

“Have you been reading in the library?” Mrs. Linley asked.  And Mrs. Presty answered:  “No, Catherine; I have been listening.”

Mrs. Linley looked at her mother; her lovely complexion reddened with a deep blush.

“Introduce me to Miss Westerfield,” Mrs. Presty proceeded, as coolly as ever.