‘And I am sorry to say that you will be a good deal with her,’ Miss Darrell said, shaking her head gravely; ’for you are to take the second English class under her—­I heard them say so at dinner to-day—­ and I am afraid she will fidget you almost out of your life; but you must try to keep your temper, and take things as quietly as you can, and I daresay in time you will be able to get on with her.’

‘I’m sure I hope so,’ I answered rather sadly; and then Miss Darrell asked me how long I was to be at Albury Lodge.

‘Three years,’ I told her; ’and after that, Miss Bagshot is to place me somewhere as a governess.’

‘You are going to be a governess always?’

‘I suppose so,’ I answered.  The word ‘always’ struck me with a little sharp pain, almost like a wound.  Yes, I supposed it would be always.  I was neither pretty nor attractive.  What issue could there be for me out of that dull hackneyed round of daily duties which makes up the sum of a governess’s life?

‘I am obliged to do something for my living,’ I said; ’my father is very poor.  I hope I may be able to help him a little by and by.’

’And my father is so ridiculously rich.  He is a great ironmaster, and has wharves and warehouses, and goodness knows what, at North Shields.  How hard it seems!’

‘What seems hard?’ I asked absently.

’That money should be so unequally divided.  Do you know, I don’t think I should much mind going out as a governess:  it would be a way of seeing life.  One must meet with all sorts of adventures, going among strangers like that.’

I looked at her as she smiled at me, with a smile that gave an indescribable brightness to her face, and I fancied that for her indeed there could be no form of life so dull that would not hold some triumph, some success.  She seemed a creature born to extract brightness out of the commonest things, a creature to be only admired and caressed, go where she might.

‘You a governess!’ I said, a little scornfully; ’you are not of the clay that makes governesses.’

‘Why not?’

‘You are much too pretty and too fascinating.’

’O, Mary Crofton, Mary Crofton—­may I call you Mary, please? we are going to be such friends—­if you begin by flattering me like that, how am I ever to trust you and lean upon you?  I want some one with a stronger mind than my own, you know, dear, to lead me right; for I’m the weakest, vainest creature in the world, I believe.  Papa has spoiled me so.’

’If you are always like what you are to-night, I don’t think the spoiling has done much mischief,’ I said.

’O, I am always amiable enough, so long as I have my own way.  And now tell me all about your home.’

I gave her a faithful account of my brothers and my sister, and a brief description of the dear old-fashioned cottage, with its white-plaster walls crossed with great black beams, its many gables and quaint latticed windows.  I told her how happy and united we had always been at home, and how this made my separation from those I loved so much the harder to bear; to all of which Milly Darrell listened with most unaffected sympathy.