sister's
health would delay their return to England for a little while. By the
end of the month she hoped to be at home again, and to hear if Francine
was disengaged. Her address, in England, was Monksmoor Park, Hants.

Having read the letter, Francine drew a moral from it: "There is great
use in a fool, when one knows how to manage her."

Having little appetite for her breakfast, she tried the experiment of a
walk on the terrace. Alban Morris was right; the air at Netherwoods, in
the summer time, _was_ relaxing. The morning mist still hung over the
lowest part of the valley, between the village and the hills beyond. A
little exercise produced a feeling of fatigue. Francine returned to her
room, and trifled with her tea and toast.

Her next proceeding was to open her writing-desk, and look into the old
account-book once more. While it lay open on her lap, she recalled what
had passed that morning, between Mrs. Ellmother and herself.

The old woman had been born and bred in the North, on an open moor. She
had been removed to the keen air of Canada when she left her birthplace.
She had been in service after that, on the breezy eastward coast of
Kent. Would the change to the climate of Netherwoods produce any effect
on Mrs. Ellmother? At her age, and with her seasoned constitution, would
she feel it as those school-girls had felt it--especially that one among
them, who lived in the bracing air of the North, the air of Yorkshire?

Weary of solitary thinking on one subject, Francine returned to the
terrace with a vague idea of finding something to amuse her--that is to
say, something she could turn into ridicule--if she joined the girls.

The next morning, Mrs. Ellmother answered her mistress's bell without
delay. "You have slept better, this time?" Francine said.

"No, miss. When I did get to sleep I was troubled by dreams. Another bad
night--and no mistake!"

"I suspect your mind is not quite at ease," Francine suggested.

"Why do you suspect that, if you please?"

"You talked, when I met you at Miss Emily's, of wanting to get away from
your own thoughts. Has the change to this place helped you?"

"It hasn't helped me as I expected. Some people's thoughts stick fast."

"Remorseful thoughts?" Francine inquired.

Mrs. Ellmother held up her forefinger, and shook it with a gesture of
reproof. "I thought we agreed, miss, that there was to be no pumping."

The business of the toilet proceeded in silence.

A week