Don't I know. Give me that bangle." And she stretched out her
hand with a clutching gesture.

"No," said Anne sternly, "I shall keep my present. Go to bed. You are
overtired. To-morrow you will be wiser."

"I am wise now--too wise. You have made Giles love you."

"I have not; I swear I have not," said Anne, beginning to lose her
composure.

"You have, and you love him; I see it in your face. Who are you to come
into my life and spoil it?"

"I am a governess. That is all you need to know."

"You look like a governess," said Daisy, insultingly. "I believe you are
a bad woman, and came here to steal Giles from me."

"Daisy!"--Anne rose to her feet and walked towards the door--"I have had
quite enough of your hysterical nonsense. If you came here to insult me
in this way, it is time you went. Mr. Ware and I were complete strangers
to one another when I came here."

"Strangers! And what are you now?"

"Friends--nothing more, nothing less."

"So you say; and I daresay Giles would say the same thing did I ask
him."

Anne's face grew white and set. She seized the foolish, hysterical
little creature by the wrist and shook her. "I'll tell you one thing,"
she said softly, and her threat was the more terrible for the softness,
"I have black blood in my veins, for I was born at Martinique, and if
you talk to Giles about me, I'll--I'll--kill you. Go and pray to God
that you may be rid of this foolishness."

Daisy, wide-eyed, pallid, and thoroughly frightened, fled whimpering,
and sought refuge in her own room. Anne closed the door, and locked it
so as to prevent a repetition of this unpleasant visit. Then she went to
open the window, for the air of the room seemed tainted by the presence
of Daisy. Flinging wide the casement, Anne leaned out into the bitter
air and looked at the wonderful white snow-world glittering in the thin,
chill moonlight. She drew several long breaths, and became more
composed. Sufficient, indeed, to wonder why she had behaved in so
melodramatic a fashion. It was not her custom to so far break through
the conventions of civilization. But the insults of Daisy had stirred in
her that wild negro blood to which she had referred. That this girl who
had all should grudge her the simple Christmas present made Anne
furious. Yet in spite of her righteous anger she could not help feeling
sorry for Daisy. And, after all, the girl's jealousy had some foundation
in truth. Anne had given her no cause, but she