Susan, in her turn, was a little disturbed by the rumor that Front Office was soon to be abolished; begun for a whim, it might easily be ended for another whim.  For herself she did not very much care; a certain confidence in the future was characteristic of her, but she found herself wondering what would become of the other girls, Miss Sherman and Miss Murray and Miss Cottle.

She felt far more deeply the pain that Peter’s attitude gave her, a pain that gnawed at her heart day and night.  He was home from Honolulu now, and had sent her several curious gifts from Hawaii, but, except for distant glimpses in the office, she had not seen him.

One evening, just before dinner, as she was dressing and thinking sadly of the weeks, the months, that had passed since their last happy evening together, Lydia Lord came suddenly into the room.  The little governess looked white and sick, and shared her distress with Susan in a few brief sentences.  Here was Mrs. Lawrence’s check in her hand, and here Mrs. Lawrence’s note to say that her services, as governess to Chrissy and Donald and little Hazel, would be no longer required.  The blow was almost too great to be realized.

“But I brought it on myself, Sue, yes I did!” said Lydia, with dry lips.  She sat, a shapeless, shabby figure, on the side of the bed, and pressed a veined hand tightly against her knobby temples, “I brought it on myself.  I want to tell you about it.  I haven’t given Mary even a hint!  Chrissy has been ill, her throat—­they’ve had a nurse, but she liked me to sit with her now and then.  So I was sitting there awhile this morning, and Mrs. Lawrence’s sister, Miss Bacon, came in, and she happened to ask me—­oh, if only she hadn’t!- -if I knew that they meant to let Yates operate on Chrissy’s throat.  She said she thought it was a great pity.  Oh, if only I’d held my tongue, fool, fool, fool that I was!” Miss Lydia took down her hand, and regarded Susan with hot, dry eyes.  “But, before I thought,” she pursued distressedly, “I said yes, I thought so too,—­I don’t know just what words I used, but no more than that!  Chrissy asked her aunt if it would hurt, and she said, ‘No, no, dear!’ and I began reading.  And now, here’s this note from Mrs. Lawrence saying that she cannot overlook the fact that her conduct was criticized and discussed before Christina—!  And after five years, Sue!  Here, read it!”

“Beast!” Susan scowled at the monogrammed sheet, and the dashing hand.  Miss Lydia clutched her wrist with a hot hand.

“What shall I do, Sue?” she asked, in agony.

“Well, I’d simply—­” Susan began boldly enough.  But a look at the pathetic, gray-haired figure on the bed stopped her short.  She came, with the glory of her bright hair hanging loose about her face, to sit beside Lydia.  “Really, I don’t know, dear,” she said gently.  “What do you think?”

“Sue, I don’t know!” And, to Susan’s horror, poor Lydia twisted about, rested her arm on the foot of the bed, and began to cry.