The climax was, “Things must be very sad, or they would never take so much preparation.  I’ll tell you, Miss Williams,” she added in a low confidential tone; “there are two of us, and the woman cannot be in two places at once.  Now, if you go up and see the rooms and all, which I saw long ago, I could stay and talk to the poor children.”

Alison was the more surprised at the simple statecraft of the General’s widow, but it was prompted by the pitiful heart yearning over the mysterious wrongs of the poor little ones.

At last Mrs. Rawlins sailed in, crape, streamers, and all, with the lowest of curtsies and fullest of apologies for having detained her Ladyship, but she had been sending out in pursuit of Mr. Mauleverer, he would be so disappointed!  Lady Temple begged to see the children, and especially Lovedy, whom she said she should like to take home for a holiday.

“Why, my lady, you see Mr. Mauleverer is very particular.  I hardly know that I could answer it to him to have one of his little darlings out of his sight.  It unsettles a child so to be going home, and Lovedy has a bad cold, my lady, and I am afraid it will run through the house.  My little Alice is beginning of it.”

However, Lady Temple kept to her desire of seeing Lovedy, and of letting her companion see the rest of the establishment, and they were at last ushered into the room already known to the visitors of the F. U. E. E., where the two children sat as usual in white pinafores, but it struck the ladies that all looked ill, and Lovedy was wrapped in a shawl, and sat cowering in a dull, stupified way, unlike the bright responsive manner for which she had been noted even in her lace-school days.  Mary Morris gazed for a moment at Alison with a wistful appealing glance, then, with a start as of fright, put on a sullen stolid look, and kept her eyes on her book.  The little Alice, looking very heavy and feverish, leant against her, and Mrs. Rawlins went on talking of the colds, the gruel she had made, and her care for her pupils’ ailments, and Lady Temple listened so graciously that Alison feared she was succumbing to the palaver; and by way of reminder, asked to see the dormitory.

“Oh, yes, ma’am, certainly, though we are rather in confusion,” and she tried to make both ladies precede her, but Lady Temple, for once assuming the uncomprehending nonchalance of a fine lady, seated herself languidly and motioned Alison on.  The matron was evidently perplexed, she looked daggers at the children, or Ailie fancied so, but she was forced to follow the governess.  Lady Temple breathed more freely, and rose.  “My poor child,” she said to Lovedy, “you seem very poorly.  Have you any message to your aunt?”

“Please, please!” began Lovedy, with a hoarse sob.

“Lovedy, don’t, don’t be a bad girl, or you know—­” interposed the little one, in a warning whisper.

“She is not naughty,” said Lady Temple gently, “only not well.”