terrupt an embarrassing silence, and to give a more
cheerful tone to their little interview, the governess, in a gay tone, on
a sudden said--

"And so, madame, we are to have a visitor, Miss Rhoda tells me--a
baronet, is he not?"

"Yes, indeed, mademoiselle--Sir Wynston Berkley, a gay London gentleman,
and a cousin of Mr. Marston's," she replied.

"Ha--a cousin!" exclaimed the young lady, with a little more surprise in
her tone than seemed altogether called for--"a cousin? oh, then, that is
the reason of his visit. Do, pray, madame, tell me all about him; I am so
much afraid of strangers, and what you call men of the world. Oh, dear
Mrs. Marston, I am not worthy to be here, and he will see all that in a
moment; indeed, indeed, I am afraid. Pray tell me all about him."

She said this with a simplicity which made the elder lady smile, and
while mademoiselle re-adjusted the tiny flowers which formed the bouquet
she had just presented to her, Mrs. Marston good-naturedly recounted to
her all she knew of Sir Wynston Berkley, which, in substance, amounted to
no more than we have already stated. When she concluded, the young
Frenchwoman continued for some time silent, still busy with her
flowers. But, suddenly, she heaved a deep sigh, and shook her head.

"You seem disquieted, mademoiselle," said Mrs. Marston, in a tone
of kindness.

"I am thinking, madame," she said, still looking upon the flowers which
she was adjusting, and again sighing profoundly, "I am thinking of what
you said to me a week ago; alas!"

"I do not remember what it was, my good mademoiselle--nothing, I am
sure, that ought to grieve you--at least nothing that was intended to
have that effect," replied the lady, in a tone of gentle encouragement.

"No, not intended, madame," said the young Frenchwoman, sorrowfully.

"Well, what was it? Perhaps you misunderstood; perhaps I can explain what
I said," replied Mrs. Marston, affectionately.

"Ah, madame, you think--you think I am unlucky," answered the young
lady, slowly and faintly.

"Unlucky! Dear mademoiselle, you surprise me," rejoined her companion.

"I mean--what I mean is this, madame; you date unhappiness--if not its
beginning, at least its great aggravation and increase," she answered,
dejectedly, "from the time of my coming here, madame; and though I know
you are too good to dislike me on that account, yet I must, in your eyes,
be ever connected with calamity, and look like an ominous thing."