Time passed, and she came back once more to England. Her aunt died, so she assumed her name; and, as Miss Kingscott now, she took a situation once more in an English family at a cathedral town in the south. She knew he was in London now, and she wanted to be near him. She was so fond of him, you see!
But she had another little game, too, to watch over. One day Doctor Jolly had come to visit at the house where she was employed as a governess, and where she was about leaving, on account of the breaking up of the household. Doctor Jolly was impressed with her, and our heroine, having made enquiries, thought there might be worse lots in life than being a rich doctress: so she made eyes at him, and set her cap coquettishly.
The doctor mentioned that Mrs Hartshorne was in want of a lady companion for her daughter, and said he would recommend her.
Miss Kingscott was agreeable. She had heard there was an only son—Poor Tom!—and who knew what might turn up? Besides, she would be near the doctor, and consequently have him to fall back upon.
And so she came to be domesticated at The Poplars. The old lady squabbled with her, but she gave her as much as she got; and the dowager, pleased with having some one worth quarrelling with, retained her.
Susan, of course, was passive in her hands, and the son of the house she had not yet seen, so she bided her time, and diligently cultivated old Jolly, whose cheery “How-de-do!” to her would be heard afar, echoing through the poplar trees when he came to visit at the house, which he now did much oftener than before.
She was surprised, naturally, to see Markworth at the present juncture, but not so much as he was. He of course had not recognised her new name, which, indeed, he had never heard of before; and would have been as pleased—aye! more so—to have met his Satanic Majesty now than his quondam Parisian love—the little English governess.
“Damn her!” he growled, sotto voce to himself; “what the devil brings her here to spoil my game?”