ut the governess loved it very much.
She kept her favorite photographs here, and her best prized books.
Here she was absolutely her own mistress, and she sometimes called the
little room "Home, sweet Home." Miss Nelson was a well-educated woman;
she was between forty and fifty years of age; she had a staid and
somewhat cold manner, but she was a good disciplinarian, and
thoroughly conscientious. When Mrs. Wilton had died three years ago,
Miss Nelson had come to the Chase. Mrs. Wilton on her deathbed had
asked her husband to secure Miss Nelson's services, if possible, for
the children, and this fact alone would have prevented his ever
parting with the governess.

Miss Nelson was all that was honorable and kind, but a sort of
impenetrable reserve prevented her showing the real affection she felt
for her pupils. Consequently Ermengarde disliked her, Lucy tolerated
her, the nursery children were supremely indifferent to her, and
Marjorie alone loved her. This latter fact did not raise Miss Nelson
in anyone's estimation. It was Marjorie's fashion to love people; it
would have been unnatural, uncanny to hear round, good humored
Marjorie abusing people. Marjorie's affection was bestowed on all
creatures, therefore being common, it was in Ermie's opinion at
least, a rather worthless thing to secure.

Miss Nelson went into her private room now, shut and locked the door,
sat down in her easy-chair, and burst into tears. She was shocked at
Ermengarde's disobedience; Ermie's open defiance of her authority
almost terrified her. She loved all the children whom she taught, she
would have done anything, gone to the length of any sacrifice, for
their sakes. She wanted them to grow up good, honorable, worthy of
their mother, whose memory she revered. It was easy to prophesy a
bright future for Marjorie. Little Lucy, too, was a fairly amenable
child; but Ermengarde, who was as proud and reserved as Miss Nelson
herself--the governess trembled when she reflected how small was her
power over this wayward child.

She thought for a long time; three courses of action were open to her.
She might go to Mr. Wilton, open her heart to him, tell him all her
doubts and fears, and ask him to remove Ermengarde from her care. Or
she might talk to the little girl, tell her that she would shield her
from her father's anger, show her in gentle words how wrong her action
had been, assure her of the deep love she really felt for her, and
finally forgive h