“We really cannot do without one any longer,” cried he, in urgent appeal to Kate, who rang the bell with an air of conviction.

“I will send for Miss Leigh, with whom I have been rehearsing.  She almost knows the play by heart, and set my song to music.”

Bluebell was starting out with the children, but came very willingly.  Acting always had a charm for her, and, the play being pretty well in her head, she could prompt and watch at the same time.

Kate was too clever not to act well; but the role of the simple, ingenuous heroine was scarcely suited to her.  She did not look it.  The other girl, Miss Heneage, said her part like a lesson, but could not act it.  The men were imperfect—­incapable of getting through a sentence without the prompter.  Sir Robert was the most inattentive of all, being more interested in trying to set up a flirtation with Bluebell, who demurely repressed him.

Such were the elements Mr. Barton was preparing to appear before an indulgent public in two days’ time.  All the neighbourhood was invited to the theatricals, and the evening was to close with a dance.

This night Bluebell received no invitation to join the party below.  The children went down without her, and came up about nine, apparently in a great state of amusement.

“You’ll get down to-morrow, I think, Miss Leigh.  Uncle Bromley said to mamma, ’Where is your pretty governess, Lydia?  Surely she is coming down to sing to us?’ And Sir Robert muttered something about ’a beautiful syren,’ and wanted to go up and fetch you.”

Bluebell was more gratified by the first part of this speech; that silly Sir Robert would spoil everything.

Next day, according to Mabel’s prognostications, the ban was removed, and Bluebell made free of the saloon in the evening, continuing, however, rigorously to retire when her pupils did.  Somewhat to her discomposure, she found they had been chattering to Kate about Lord Bromley joining their morning walks.  Miss Barrington had turned this little circumstance over in her mind rather curiously.  Bluebell was apparently so wonderfully discreet with young men, it was strange she should go out early to flirt with an old one.

“Next time say you would rather walk in the Park, Mabel,” said she.

And when the children rather confusedly acted on this advice, Bluebell, detecting Kate’s hand in it, immediately assented, determined that no reluctance should be reported.

The day of the theatricals arrived, and with it a great reverse of fortune to Miss Barrington.  She had driven early into the market-town in a small pony carriage for some essential no one but herself could choose.  Now, though a good rider, Kate was a remarkably careless whip; and rattling through the town, the ponies shied at something, or nothing, swerved into a cart, and upset the tittuppy little trap in a moment.  The immediate result to the