“I have not a relation in the world.”
“Dear me, how sad! Do you mind telling me your age?”
“Nineteen.” And a smile passed over Miss Muir’s lips, as she folded her hands with an air of resignation, for the catechism was evidently to be a long one.
“So young! Lady Sydney mentioned five-and-twenty, I think, didn’t she, Bella?”
“No, Mamma, she only said she thought so. Don’t ask such questions. It’s not pleasant before us all,” whispered Bella.
A quick, grateful glance shone on her from the suddenly lifted eyes of Miss Muir, as she said quietly, “I wish I was thirty, but, as I am not, I do my best to look and seem old.”
Of course, every one looked at her then, and all felt a touch of pity at the sight of the pale-faced girl in her plain black dress, with no ornament but a little silver cross at her throat. Small, thin, and colorless she was, with yellow hair, gray eyes, and sharply cut, irregular, but very expressive features. Poverty seemed to have set its bond stamp upon her, and life to have had for her more frost than sunshine. But something in the lines of the mouth betrayed strength, and the clear, low voice had a curious mixture of command and entreaty in its varying tones. Not an attractive woman, yet not an ordinary one; and, as she sat there with her delicate hands lying in her lap, her head bent, and a bitter look on her thin face, she was more interesting than many a blithe and blooming girl. Bella’s heart warmed to her at once, and she drew her seat nearer, while Edward went back to his dogs that his presence might not embarrass her.
“You have been ill, I think,” continued Mrs. Coventry, who considered this fact the most interesting of all she had heard concerning the governess.
“Yes, madam, I left the hospital only a week ago.”
“Are you quite sure it is safe to begin teaching so soon?”