But whenever a ship came in without bringing a letter, she was filled with foreboding and dread.  Still, there was always the consolation that he was public property, and as long as she did not see his death reported, might conclude him to be safe.

And he never did write anything to excite alarm.  No more perils or hair-breadth escapes could be inferred from his letters than if he were merely residing abroad from choice.

Mrs. Markham obtained her another situation.  She had never succeeded in discovering to whom Bluebell was married; but having persuaded herself it was unnecessary to let that stand in the way, simply recommended her in her maiden name.

“I look upon your governessing as a farce, you know, Bluebell, though any one would gladly snap you up for your music alone.  But when this war is over, the mysterious husband will return, and you will pay me a visit in your true colours.”

And so they parted, with many promises of correspondence.

Bluebell’s next venture was at Brighton, and she drove to Brunswick Square one chilly afternoon in March, rather dejected at the prospect of being again thrown among strangers.

“Not at home,” said the servant.  “Mrs. Barrington is hout-driving.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” said a pert maid, tripping downstairs.  “This way, miss.  I was to show you your room, and the children’s tea will be ready directly.”

So saying, she preceded Bluebell upstairs to a chilly, fireless apartment.  Houses in Brighton are not generally very substantially built, and the room was furnished on the most approved governess pattern,—­just what was barely necessary, no more.  Bluebell was impressionable, perhaps fanciful, for hitherto her “lines had fallen in pleasant places,” and she shivered a little at the forbidding exterior, but was somewhat cheered by a suggestion of welcome conveyed by a bunch of violets on the dressing-table.  “There’s some kind person in this house,” thought she, yet lingering awhile in a purposeless manner, unwilling to walk alone into the school-room and face the strange children.  While thus hesitating, a demure little person came to fetch her, with tight plaited hair, irreproachable pinafore, and stockings well drawn up.  Two younger duplicates were in the school-room.  The table was laid for the evening meal,—­thick wedges of bread-and-butter, calculated to appease but not to allure the appetite, and a large Britannia-metal teapot, with not injuriously strong tea.

There were a couple of globes, an old piano, and book-cases well stocked with grammars and histories, and the fire was guarded by a high fender, effectually dissipating any frivolous notion of sitting with the feet on it.  There was neither dog nor cat, nor even a stray doll, to distract attention from the serious business of education.

Such was the impression conveyed to Bluebell, who was instantly filled with well-grounded misgivings as to whether her qualifications might be quite up to the standard expected.  Good gracious! those children looked capable of obtaining female scholarships, as they sat, with their keen impassive faces, calmly adding her up, so to speak.