“Miss Emery is leaving me.” Miss Emery was the governness. “As you have not yet succeeded in finding anything, I wondered if you would care—it would be so nice if you remained with us altogether?”
I was touched. She didn’t want me, I knew. It was sheer Christian charity that prompted the offer. I felt remorseful for my secret criticism of her. Getting up, I ran impulsively across the room and flung my arms round her neck.
“You’re a dear,” I said. “A dear, a dear, a dear! And thank you ever so much. But it’s all right, I’m off to South Africa on Saturday.”
My abrupt onslaught had startled the good lady. She was not used to sudden demonstrations of affection. My words startled her still more.
“To South Africa? My dear Anne. We would have to look into anything of that kind very carefully.”
That was the last thing I wanted. I explained that I had already taken my passage, and that upon arrival I proposed to take up the duties of a parlourmaid. It was the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment. There was, I said, a great demand for parlourmaids in South Africa. I assured her that I was equal to taking care of myself, and in the end, with a sigh of relief at getting me off her hands, she accepted the project without further query. At parting, she slipped an envelope into my hand. Inside it I found five new crisp five-pound notes and the words: “I hope you will not be offended and will accept this with my love.” She was a very good, kind woman. I could not have continued to live in the same house with her, but I did recognize her intrinsic worth.
So here I was, with twenty-five pounds in my pocket, facing the world and pursuing my adventure.
It was on the fourth day that the stewardess finally urged me up on deck. Under the impression that I should die quicker below, I had steadfastly refused to leave my bunk. She now tempted me with the advent of Madeira. Hope rose in my breast. I could leave the boat and go ashore and be a parlourmaid there. Anything for dry land.
Muffled in coats and rugs, and weak as a kitten on my legs, I was hauled up and deposited, an inert mass, on a deck-chair. I lay there with my eyes closed, hating life. The purser, a fair-haired young man, with a round boyish face, came and sat down beside me.
“Hullo! Feeling rather sorry for yourself, eh?”