CHAPTER XXXVI.
DRIFTING OUT.
In Mrs. Major Wheatly's pretty drawing-room in their new house in Golden Row sat Miss Winnie Rose, the governess. She is dressed in slight mourning, very simple, as becomes a governess, but fitting the small, light figure with exquisite neatness, and she is counting time for Miss Wheatly, who sits strumming out her music-lesson at the piano. Mrs. Wheatly lies on a sofa at the window, dawdling over a novel and looking listlessly at the passers-by, and wishing some one would call. She started up, thinking her mental prayer was granted, as a servant entered with a card. But it was not for her. It was handed to the governess.
"Mr. Blake!" said Miss Rose, hesitatingly. "This cannot be for me, Margaret."
"O yes'm, it is! He requested particularly to see Miss Rose."
"Is it Mr. Blake?" inquired Mrs. Wheatly. "What can he want with you, I wonder?"
Miss Rose smiled as she got up.
"I am sure I don't know. I may go down, I suppose?"
"Oh, certainly, my dear!" said Mrs. Wheatly, yawning. "And ask him if he has heard from his sister lately. Stop your strumming, Louisa, it makes my head ache."
Mr. Blake was sitting in what was called the morning-room, and shook hands with Miss Rose when she came in. But how strangely grave he was! What could he want with her? Her heart fluttered a little as she looked at him.