“Understand me—you must not turn suddenly and be selfishly murmuring over the past,” urged Miss Lawson, who had been closely watching the girl. “Whatever happens, be grateful, Margery.”
“I am—I am,” cried Margery, “thankful to all, and to you, for you have done so much for me, and now you come to help me again!”
“As I shall always help you, I hope,” returned the governess. “I knew you would understand me, Margery—I felt you would be true to your nature. I waited only till I had something definite to propose before I spoke to you.” She drew out a letter from her pocket as she finished. “You have heard me speak of my sister, Mrs. Fothergill. This is from her. She has married a doctor in London, a man who is fast becoming celebrated as a specialist. I have written many times about you, and, when we have met, I have chatted to her, till she thoroughly realizes what you are. This letter came only this morning, and it contains something that I thought would just suit you.”
“Yes?” said Margery, simply.
Miss Lawson unfolded the letter.
“‘You have often heard me mention Lady Enid Walsh,’” she read, “‘the poor young creature whom John has been attending during the past year. I was sitting with her yesterday. She seems to have taken a fancy to me, and during our conversation she asked me to help her to find a companion. She has a lady with her now, an officer’s widow; but she is not a pleasant woman, and they are going to part. I feel so sorry for Lady Enid—young, with beauty and rank, and a cripple for life! She leads such an isolated existence!—for her aunt, Lady Merivale, at whose house she resides, is very old, and almost always confined to her room, and Lady Enid’s only brother, the Earl of Court, is never in England. She welcomes me so warmly, and opens her heart to me! She told me that she would like a bright young girl for companion—if possible from the country. Lady Enid adores the country; but she is compelled to live in London to be near the doctors and under the so-called care of her aunt. Immediately she spoke of a country girl my thoughts flew to your pupil, Margery Daw. From your accounts I feel sure she is the very person to suit the poor young invalid. Do you think this could be managed? She would have a luxurious home, a really magnificent salary, and I feel sure would soon grow to love Lady Enid—no one could help doing so. I half said I knew of some one, and she adopted the idea eagerly; so I hasten to write you.
“‘The question is whether Margery would like the life. It would be dull, very dull; but Lady Enid is a most charming and intellectual companion, and very unselfish. I know you have been anxious about your pupil; and this seems such a wonderful chance that I cannot help saying I shall be disappointed if it falls through. I suppose Lady Coningham would not object to her protégée’s becoming independent? Write by return, and let me know what you think of my proposal; and, if you approve, try to arrange it as quickly as possible, as the widow lady leaves in a fortnight.’”
Miss Lawson folded the letter slowly, and put it back into her pocket.
“That is all,” she said, quietly. “Now, Margery, it remains for you to express your feelings.”
“It is so sudden,” responded Margery, faintly; her hands were clasped together; her face, hidden behind the flopping sunbonnet, was perplexed, pained and troubled.