"Not one."
"Then, until you wish to leave, or until some more suitable and congenial sphere of work is opened for you, remain, my child."
George Brudenell, speaking thus, had forgotten her beauty, her queen-like dignity, and remembered only her youth and helplessness. He went down-stairs with an odd feeling, thinking how quickly, with what almost disconcerting rapidity, she had, after her point was gained, recovered that icy composure of manner; remembering, too, how cold and lifeless her hand had lain in his when she gave it in saying good-night. But he was glad that she was going to stay; he had that curious sense of relief from tension which is the result of anxiety removed, as though to protect her, to befriend and keep her safe, were an object which had long lain near his heart. He was a little astonished, but he explained his feeling to himself. She was too young and far too beautiful to live friendless in the modern Babylon called London.
He rang for Mrs. Jessop, and explained to that excellent woman this new phase of affairs. Mrs. Jessop, respectfully listening, received the news in a manner which could hardly be termed gracious, but prudently gave but small expression to her opinions. Mrs. Jessop's situation in the Doctor's household was a very comfortable one, and she did not desire to lose it; but Mrs. Jessop's eyes were as keen as those of most women, a fact which she often insisted upon when talking to various confidential friends—so keen, indeed, that they sometimes descried things which did not exist. At present, however, Mrs. Jessop merely told herself that, if Miss Boucheafen had not been quite so handsome, her chance of remaining in her present quarters would not have been by any means so great.
Mrs. Jessop, having formed this astute conviction, walked out of the dining-room, and went down to her snug sitting-room, where, sitting down by the fire, she fell to darning a table-cloth while she thought things over. She had arrived at a conclusion that would have astonished her master, and she chanced to want more cotton, and rose to get it from her work-box. And among the reels and hanks of tape she saw something that astonished her.
"I declare," said Mrs. Jessop to herself, "if I haven't forgot to give it to her after all!"
"It" was the only thing which had been found upon Alexia Boucheafen, the tiny roll of paper, covered with its grotesque red characters and tied with its piece of faded silk. Rather ashamed of her forgetfulness and neglect, the housekeeper took it and went up-stairs at once to the new governess's room.
Alexia was sitting by the fire, almost as Doctor Brudenell had left her, her chin drooping upon her hands, her face almost hidden by her hair. She started at Mrs. Jessop's entrance, flung back the black tresses, and looked up.
"What is it?"
"I'm sure I'm very sorry, miss," Mrs. Jessop faltered, finding herself forced into somewhat reluctant respect before the bright gaze of the imperious eyes, "and I hope you'll excuse my forgetfulness. I quite forgot until just this moment to give you this."