trembling lip. She had been about to
mention Veronica, and Miss Turtle pounced
on the opportunity thus afforded.

"It was your cousin, or at least we all
called her so, Miss Desmond, although
aware that no tie of blood united you
together; it was Miss Levincourt who was
most intimate at the Plews'. Oh, yes,
indeed it was! But of course all that is
over. Higher spheres have other claims,
have they not, Miss Desmond? And that
which the proud and haughty have
rejected, may be very precious to the humble
and lonely, if it would but think so; may
it not, Miss Desmond?"

A light began to dawn in Maud's mind,
which illumined the oracular utterances of
Miss Turtle. Through the mincing
affectation of the little woman's speech and
manner, there pierced the tone of genuine
emotion. Still, Maud did not understand
why Miss Turtle should have chosen to
reveal such emotion to her.

Maud rose and held out her hand.
"Good-bye, Miss Turtle," she said. "Please
tell Kitty and Cissy that I hope to see
them at the practising next Saturday."

"Good-bye, Miss Desmond. I hope you
won't take it amiss that I ventured to
enter into conversation with you."

"By no means! How can you imagine
that I should do so?"

"Nor look upon it in the light of a
liberty?"

"Certainly not. Pray do not speak so!"

"Thank you, Miss Desmond. You were
always so kind and affable!" There was
the least possible stress laid on the personal
pronoun, as though Miss Turtle were
mentally distinguishing Maud from some one
who was not always kind and affable.
"And you are just the same as ever, I'm
sure, Miss Desmond. And—and—if I
didn't fear to offend you, which I wouldn't
do for the world—indeed I would not!—I
should like to—to—to ask——" The
governess made a long pause. Maud did
not speak; in fact, she could not. She
was too sure in her heart about whom Miss
Turtle desired to ask. The latter remained
silent for some minutes; but, although
timid in her manner from years of repression
and snubbing, Miss Turtle was not
exquisitely sensitive, and she had that sort
of mild obstinacy which frequently
accompanies stupidity.

Neither Maud's silence, nor her pale,
distressed face, availed therefore to turn Miss
Turtle from the purpose she had had in
view when she sat down on the wall beside
the vicar's ward. That purpose was to
ascertain, if possible, what the truth of
Veronica's position really was.

Of course Shipley-in-the-Wold had rung
with gossip about her; and latterly the
gossip had reported—most wonderful to
relate—something not far from the actual
state of the case.

"I should like to ask," proceeded Miss
Turtle at length, "if it is true what we
hear, that Miss Levincourt—that is, if all
be as we have heard rumoured, she is not,
of course, Miss Levincourt any longer—if
she is in England again, and—and quite
wealthy, and—I hope you are not offended,
Miss Desmond!"

"She is in England. She is a widow
and is left in possession of a considerable
fortune."

"Oh, dear me! So it was true?"

Maud bowed, and was moving away.
"One instant, Miss Desmond. I'm
afraid you are angry with me for speaking.
But, after all, it was natural that we should
wish to know the truth; wasn't it now,
Miss Desmond?"

Maud reflected that it was natural. Her
conscience told her that the movement of
sensitive pride which made her shrink from
hearing Veronica mentioned by indifferent
persons, was far from being wholly a good
movement. She constrained herself to
hold out her hand once more to Miss
Turtle. The gratitude in the governess's
face rewarded her for the effort.

"Oh, thank you, Miss Desmond! I
should have been so sorry to hurt your
feelings. Of course you will see Mr. Plew
before long, and then I suppose you—you
will tell him, won't you? Of course he
will know, so intimate as he was with
the family; and always speaks with the
greatest respect, I'm sure. When he knows
something certain about Miss Levincourt—
that is—I'm so used to the name, you see—
—we hope, his mother and I hope—or, at
least, she hopes—for of course I can't
presume to put myself forward—that he may
get to be more comfortable and settled in
his mind. We think him a good deal
changed, Miss Desmond. His spirits are
like a plummet of lead, to what they were,
I do assure you. Good-bye, Miss Desmond,
and thank you very much."

Maud walked home across the paddock
and up the long gravel path in the vicarage
garden, with a feeling of heaviness at her
heart. She was half inclined to hate
Miss Turtle, Mrs. Plew, and all the people
in Shipley. But she resisted the impulse
of irritated temper. What was her vexation
compared with the sorrow and trouble