"Yes," said Lucy, blushing faintly; "I am a teacher."
"A governess?" he said.
"No, a teacher," corrected Lucy, with fine emphasis. "I am one of the teachers at the village school. There are only two—I mean teachers. I am the second."
"And do you like being a teacher?" he asked. His voice was as grave as ever, but the expression of interest seemed increasing; the pleasant face looked so pretty and innocent and girlish under the shadow of the big umbrella; the clear, low voice rang so true and sweet. It seemed to the weary city man as if he had stopped to pick up one of the wild flowers from the hedge-row.
"Oh, yes," said Lucy, promptly.
"I thought so by the way you spoke," he said, with a smile; and Lucy laughed and blushed again.
"I like it very much," she said. "But, then, ours is such a nice school, and the girls are all such good girls, aren't they, Jenny?"
"Yes, Miss Lucy," assented Jenny, from under the wrap into which she had nestled.
"Self-praise, eh?" he said.
"Oh, but she is really a very good girl," said Lucy, in a confidential whisper, which seemed to make them more intimate. "They are all good, and so we are both as happy as we can be."