"Let us have a walk on the terrace before the lessons begin, Laura—Miss Reinhart will come with us."
But it was not to me he talked.
In the early days of her arrival I heard my dear mother once, when my father was speaking of her fine manners, say:
"We ought to be proud to have so grand a lady for governess."
Poor mamma, who knows the price she paid for a lady governess?
It was when these morning visits grew so long that I first began to notice the tone in which Miss Reinhart spoke of my mother.
She would lean her beautiful head just a little forward, her eyes bright with sweetest sympathy, her voice as beautifully sweet as the cooing of the ring-dove.
"How is dear Lady Tayne this morning, Sir Roland?" she would ask.
"I am afraid there is little difference and no improvement," was his reply.
"Ah, how sad—what a sad fate—so young and so afflicted. It must be dreadful for you, Sir Roland. I sympathize so much with you. I never quite lose sight of your troubles. I do not know that there could possibly be a greater one."