“You are not in need of money,” said Jane, with a slight sigh; and she turned to the publisher, and asked if he brought out new poems as well as new novels.

“Poetry is ticklish stuff to go off, particularly in Edinburgh,” said he.  “I am very shy of it, except in bringing out cheap editions of poems of established reputation, or reprints of American poets.”

“Where there is no copyright to be paid for,” said Mr. Malcolm; “I know the tricks of the trade.”

Mrs. Rennie had asked Jane to play and sing, which she could not do, and then had engaged in conversation with Mr. Hogarth for a considerable time.  Now she supposed Jane must fancy she was not receiving sufficient attention from her hostess, considering that she was the only lady guest, so she came forward, and withdrew her from the animated conversation of the gentlemen, and proceeded to entertain her in the best way that she could.  Her younger children (not her youngest, for they were in bed) were gathered around her, and the conversation was somewhat desultory, owing to their interruptions and little delinquencies.  It was now getting time for them, too, to go to bed, and it was not without repeated orders from mamma, supported at last by a forcible observation from papa, that they bade the company good-night, and retired.  They were all very nice-looking children, and not ill-disposed, though somewhat refractory and dilatory about the vexed question of going to bed.

Talking to them and about them naturally brought up the subject of education; and Jane timidly inquired if Mrs. Rennie was in want of a governess, or if she knew any one who was.

“No; the children are all at school or under masters—­the best masters in Edinburgh—­for Mr. Rennie is extravagant in the matter of education.  The children get on better—­there is more emulation; and then there is such a houseful of ourselves, that we would not know where to put a governess, though it might otherwise be an economy,” said Mrs. Rennie.

“I should like to have classes,” said Jane—­trying to speak boldly for herself; “to teach what I have learned under the same masters whom you are so pleased with—­English philologically, with the practice of composition, writing, arithmetic, and mathematics.  I can get certificates of my competency from the professors under whom I have studied.  I must leave the neighbourhood of Swinton, where there is no field for me, and start in this line; my sister can assist me, I have no doubt.”

“I never heard of such a thing, Miss Melville; you had much better take a situation.  The worry and uncertainty of taking rooms and paying rent, when there are so many masters that you cannot expect but a very few pupils, would wear you out in a twelvemonth.  If I were to send you my two girls—­and I am sure I have every reason to be satisfied with their present teachers—­what would they do for you?  Oh, no, Miss Melville.  Take my advice, and get a nice quiet situation, or go into a school, where you might take music lessons in exchange for what you can teach now.”