"Miss Fenmore," I whispered, "I wonder why they didn't take me with them, if it's a nice place. And then there wouldn't have been all these dreadful things."
"It is quite a different matter to take a child to a hot climate," she said. "Grown-up people can stand much that would be very bad for girls and boys. When I was little my father was in India, and my sister and I had to be brought up by an aunt in England."
"Did you mind?" I said eagerly. "And did your papa soon come home? And where was your mamma?"
Miss Fenmore smiled, but there was something a little sad in her smile.
"I was very happy with my aunt," she said; "she was like a mother to me. For my mother died when I was a little baby. Yes, my father has been home several times, but he is in India again now, and he won't be able to come back for good till he is quite old. So you have much happier things to look forward to, you see, Geraldine."
That was true. I felt very sorry for Miss Fenmore as I lay thinking over what she had been telling me. Then another idea struck me.
"Is Mrs. Cranston your aunt?" I said. "Is that why you are living here?"
Miss Fenmore looked up quickly.
"No," she replied; "I thought somehow that you understood. I am here because I am Myra Raby's governess—Myra Raby, who used to come for some lessons to Green Bank."
"Oh!" I exclaimed. This explained several things. "Oh yes," I went on, "I remember her, and I know she's Mr. Cranston's grand-daughter—he was speaking of her to mamma one day. I should like to see her, Miss Fenmore. May I?"