have a very great deal to forgive myself,
too. I know well how much I vex you at every turn."

"But no--"

Miss Bartlett assumed her favourite role, that of the prematurely aged
martyr.

"Ah, but yes! I feel that our tour together is hardly the success I had
hoped. I might have known it would not do. You want some one younger
and stronger and more in sympathy with you. I am too uninteresting and
old-fashioned--only fit to pack and unpack your things."

"Please--"

"My only consolation was that you found people more to your taste, and
were often able to leave me at home. I had my own poor ideas of what a
lady ought to do, but I hope I did not inflict them on you more than was
necessary. You had your own way about these rooms, at all events."

"You mustn't say these things," said Lucy softly.

She still clung to the hope that she and Charlotte loved each other,
heart and soul. They continued to pack in silence.

"I have been a failure," said Miss Bartlett, as she struggled with the
straps of Lucy's trunk instead of strapping her own. "Failed to make you
happy; failed in my duty to your mother. She has been so generous to me;
I shall never face her again after this disaster."

"But mother will understand. It is not your fault, this trouble, and it
isn't a disaster either."

"It is my fault, it is a disaster. She will never forgive me, and
rightly. Fur instance, what right had I to make friends with Miss
Lavish?"

"Every right."

"When I was here for your sake? If I have vexed you it is equally true
that I have neglected you. Your mother will see this as clearly as I do,
when you tell her."

Lucy, from a cowardly wish to improve the situation, said:

"Why need mother hear of it?"

"But you tell her everything?"

"I suppose I do generally."

"I dare not break your confidence. There is something sacred in it.
Unless you feel that it is a thing you could not tell her."

The girl would not be degraded to this.

"Naturally I should have told her. But in case she should blame you in
any way, I promise I will not, I am very willing not to. I will never
speak of it either to her or to any one."

Her promise brought the long-drawn interview to a sudden close. Miss
Bartlett pecked her smartly on both cheeks, wished her good-night, and
sent her to her own room.

For a moment the original trouble was in the background. George would
seem to have behaved like a cad throughout; perhaps that was the view
which