dded, seeing that Margaret had
not quite understood her last remark, "and she has promised to keep me on
as junior governess, as long as I do my work well, of course, and wish
to stay."

"And do you wish to stay there?" Margaret asked.

"Did you ever hear that beggars can't be choosers?" Eleanor said, with
rather a wry little smile. "I should not wish to stay in any school as a
teacher if I could avoid such a fate, but I can't; and I am at least
sensible enough to be thankful that my bread-and-butter, and a roof over
my head, and a bed, and a few other little trifles of that sort are
provided for me. And before she went, Miss McDonald did me another kind
turn. Up to the present I have always spent my holidays in Hampstead, but
this year she wrote to a cousin of hers who lives in Seabourne and asked
her if she would have me down on a visit, and the cousin wrote back such
a nice letter, saying she had just been on the point of advertising for
some one who would come to her for the whole of the summer holidays, and
make herself useful and help look after the children, and have a good
time with the elder ones. The letter was a little vague, and so Miss
McDonald thought as she read it out to me, for it did not give me much
idea of what I was to do. But probably she wants some one to arrange the
flowers, and write notes, and so on, and take the children down on the
beach and that sort of thing."

"Oh, but how lovely for you!" Margaret said, with a touch of envy in her
voice. "I wonder how many children there will be, and if there will be
any nice girls of your own age among them. And what delightful picnics,
and tennis parties, and excursions you will enjoy!"

"Yes, I suppose so," said Eleanor, without the slightest enthusiasm in
her voice. "But Mrs. Danvers, for that is the name of the lady, said I
must be prepared to find my days fairly well occupied, and must not mind
having scarcely any time to myself."

"Why, it is just the kind of life that I should have enjoyed so much,"
Margaret said, with a tremendous sigh. "People to talk to and to play
with all day long. It does seem odd that you are not anticipating it with
any pleasure, Eleanor."

"It is not only funny, it is, I know, very ungrateful," Eleanor said,
with sudden energy. "But, oh!" she added, "I don't want to play or to
talk. I want to work, work, work, and become great and famous. But at
least I can get up early. The morning hours, the ones before breakfast,