’What is there absurd in it?  The children love me; the mother loves me; the father has shown me innumerable instances of his true friendship and regard.  I am the very woman for the place—­and, as to my education, I must have completely forgotten it indeed, if I am not fit to teach three children the eldest of whom is only eleven years old.  You say I am their equal.  Are there no other women who serve as governesses, and who are the equals of the persons whom they serve?  Besides, I don’t know that I am their equal.  Have I not heard that your brother Stephen was the next heir to the title?  Will he not be the new lord?  Never mind answering me!  We won’t dispute whether I am right or wrong in turning governess—­ we will wait the event.  I am weary of my lonely useless existence here, and eager to make my life more happy and more useful, in the household of all others in which I should like most to have a place.  If you will look again, you will see that I have these personal considerations still to urge before I finish my letter.  You don’t know your brother and his wife as well as I do, if you doubt their answer.  I believe they have courage enough and heart enough to say Yes.’

Henry submitted without being convinced.

He was a man who disliked all eccentric departures from custom and routine; and he felt especially suspicious of the change proposed in the life of Agnes.  With new interests to occupy her mind, she might be less favourably disposed to listen to him, on the next occasion when he urged his suit.  The influence of the ‘lonely useless existence’ of which she complained, was distinctly an influence in his favour.  While her heart was empty, her heart was accessible.  But with his nieces in full possession of it, the clouds of doubt overshadowed his prospects.  He knew the sex well enough to keep these purely selfish perplexities to himself.  The waiting policy was especially the policy to pursue with a woman as sensitive as Agnes.  If he once offended her delicacy he was lost.  For the moment he wisely controlled himself and changed the subject.

‘My little niece’s letter has had an effect,’ he said, ’which the child never contemplated in writing it.  She has just reminded me of one of the objects that I had in calling on you to-day.’

Agnes looked at the child’s letter.  ‘How does Lucy do that?’ she asked.

’Lucy’s governess is not the only lucky person who has had money left her,’ Henry answered.  ‘Is your old nurse in the house?’

‘You don’t mean to say that nurse has got a legacy?’

’She has got a hundred pounds.  Send for her, Agnes, while I show you the letter.’

He took a handful of letters from his pocket, and looked through them, while Agnes rang the bell.  Returning to him, she noticed a printed letter among the rest, which lay open on the table.  It was a ‘prospectus,’ and the title of it was ’Palace Hotel Company of Venice (Limited).’  The two words, ‘Palace’ and ‘Venice,’ instantly recalled her mind to the unwelcome visit of Lady Montbarry.  ‘What is that?’ she asked, pointing to the title.