esson or omitted the performance of an ordained task, Miss Carthew was
willing to hear the explanation of his failure and was never
unreasonable in her judgment. One morning very soon after her arrival,
Michael was unable to repeat satisfactorily the verse of the psalm
Venite Adoremus set for him to learn.

"Why don't you know it, Michael?" Miss Carthew asked.

"I had to go to bed."

"But surely you had plenty of time before you went to bed?" Miss Carthew
persisted.

"Nanny wanted to go out, and I went to bed early," Michael explained.

For a moment or two Miss Carthew considered the problem silently. Then
she rang the bell and told withered Gladys that she wished to speak to
Nurse. Presently Nurse came in, very aggressive and puckered.

"Did Michael have to go to bed very early last night?" Miss Carthew
enquired.

"Oh, yes. Yes," Nurse blew out. "Early last night. Wednesday night. Yes.
I had to go out. Yes."

"What time did he go to bed?" Miss Carthew went on.

"What time?" repeated Nurse. "Why the proper time, of course."

"Don't be insolent," said Miss Carthew very tranquilly.

Nurse blustered and wrinkled her nose and frowned and came very close to
Miss Carthew and peered up into her face, blowing harder than ever.

"The arrangements can't be altered for governesses," said Nurse. "No.
Tut-tut. Never heard of such a thing."

"The arrangements _will_ be altered. In future Michael will go to bed at
half-past seven. It's not good for him to go to bed earlier. Do you
understand?"

"Do I understand? No, I don't understand," Nurse snapped.

"Very well," said Miss Carthew. "You need not wait, Nurse."

Nurse blinked and peered and fumed, but Miss Carthew paid so little
attention that Michael felt himself blushing for her humiliation.
However, he did not go to bed that night till half-past seven and at the
end of the week could rattle off the Venite in two breaths. It was
extraordinary how Nurse shrank into nothing at Miss Carthew's approach,
like a witch in the presence of a good fairy.

The nights were still a trial to Michael, but gradually they became less
terrible, as Miss Carthew's conversation gave him something better to
meditate upon than the possibilities of disaster and crime. On the
afternoon walks would be told stories of Miss Carthew's youth in the
West Country, of cliffs and sea-birds and wrecks, of yachting cruises
and swimming, of golden sands and magical coves and green islands. Miss
Car