“You might teach the violin—”
“Oh, dear no. I am afraid I should find myself rapping the knuckles of my pupils if they should turn out extra stupid. That wouldn’t do at all. I could go out as amanuensis, or companion, or something of that sort; for I write a neat hand, have more than a smattering of French and German, and am A1 at making Everton taffy and pickled cabbage.”
“Two very indispensable acquisitions for an amanuensis! Still, your other qualifications might fetch somebody. What do you say if we advertise? Would you mind going abroad?”
“Just what I would be best pleased to do at present.”
“Now about Mrs. Marshall and Miss Morris. It will be necessary to tell them something—”
“We will just tell them that I have had a deal of trouble, that I wish to turn my back on the scenes of my trouble for a time, and that while away from home I have a fancy for earning my own living. Such part of my troubles as are already public property you may of course confide to them.”
“Then things are settled so far. I will see about the advertisement being sent off for you, and you must understand that we are by no means in a hurry to get rid of you. You will be more than welcome to stay here until you find something to your liking to do.”
Somehow all this kindness robbed me of the composure which a strict business-like attitude on Mr. Garth’s part might have helped me to preserve. I could only thank him brokenly, and beg him to excuse my appearance in the drawing-room, as I felt fit for nothing but solitude and bed. He readily promised to do what I wished, and at length I felt at liberty to retire for the night. But by this time I had a distracting headache, and though I bathed my forehead with eau-de-cologne, and tried various other infallible specifics, I found it impossible to go to sleep, or even to subdue the pain which tormented me. From below I could occasionally hear the sound of singing, though I was unable to judge whether the vocalist was the elder or the younger of the two visitors.
About twelve o’clock, as judged from the periodical chiming of the little clock in the dressing-room, it became evident that the other visitors were coming up to bed, and I forthwith feigned the sleep which refused to come at my bidding, lest voluble Miss May might expect me to talk with her. The two ladies made as little noise as possible in the dressing-room for a while, and I was just thinking that my bedfellow would soon join me, when I heard the most blood-curdling shriek imaginable, and a white figure fairly flew into the bedroom, jumped into the bed, drew the clothes frantically over her head and ears, and moaned in a state of shuddering terror. My own natural alarm was speedily quenched by the appearance of Mrs. Marshall, bearing every evidence of extreme anger.
“I do believe you are losing your senses altogether!” she exclaimed, giving her sister’s shoulder a vigorous shake, which, so far from pacifying the young lady, only sent her into a fresh paroxysm of terror, and caused her to give a louder shriek than the first. By this time Mrs. Garth had run into the room, to see what was the matter, while at the door could be heard the voices of a startled group of people, composed of the vicar, the cook and the housemaid, all of them wondering what on earth the commotion was about. Inside the bedroom, the tableau was not without interest. Mrs. Garth stood with a lighted candle raised above her head, looking almost as frightened as May seemed to be. Mrs. Marshall was trying to convince her sister that there was nothing to be afraid of. May was steadily trying to bury herself under the bedclothes, and I was sitting up in bed, vainly struggling to wrest my legitimate share of sheets and blankets from the frantic clasp of their unceremonious appropriator.