"Yes, certainly. I don't think I have much to tell you," she answered, "except I should like you to have breakfast in the dining-room, and lunch with Ellice in the school-room, and dine with us in the evening. We are so quiet here, we shall be glad of your society then. I am having the rest cure," she said, with a strange little laugh, "and although I am much better than I was, it really is almost too quiet at times."
"I am so sorry you have been ill," said Margaret sympathetically.
"I have been dreadfully weak. I'm gradually gaining strength now, but I can't stand Ellice's high spirits, and so I pass her on to you. Manage her as you like."
"I will do my best," said Margaret. "You know I have had no experience, but I love children, and always have got on with them."
"Oh, yes. I expect she'll be good with you; you are young, and will be able to enter into her pleasures better than I can—my poor head is unable to bear much."
"And about the lessons?" asked the new governess.
"Teach her just as you like. She's a fearful little ignoramus, I'm afraid; she's made up of oddments. Anything she can pick up from the cottagers, or from her father, she retains with ease, but knowledge she ought to have acquired she is quite deficient in, I imagine. I'm afraid you'll be horrified at her ignorance."
Margaret rose and placed a cushion at Mrs. Medhurst's back, as she noticed she fidgeted restlessly in her chair.
"Thank you—thank you; that's heaps nicer. How kind of you to notice!" and the sweet smile that accompanied the words transfigured the otherwise cold look of the speaker's beautiful face.
Mr. Medhurst came into the room soon after, and the conversation became more general. Several times he glanced anxiously at his wife, and then he crossed to Miss Woodford: