nything.

"I could earn money for you--it's not myself I'm thinking about," the
girl went on; the half-lie came out quite without her conscious
volition. "I wish you didn't always think I do everything for selfish
reasons."

"I don't, my dear," said the mother feebly.

"I'm sure it's my duty," Maisie went on, with more tears than ever in
her voice. "I'm eighteen, and I ought to be earning something, instead
of being a burden to you."

The mother looked hopelessly into the fire. She had always tried to
explain things to Maisie; how was it that Maisie never understood?

"I'm sure," said Maisie, echoing her mother's thought, "I always try to
tell you how I think about things, and you never seem to understand. Of
course, I won't go if you wish it, but I _do_ think----"

She left the room in tears, and the mother remained to torment herself
with the eternal questions, What had she done wrong? Why was Maisie not
contented? What could she do to please her? Would nothing please her but
the things that were not for her good--smart clothes, change, novelty?
How could she bear her life if Maisie was not pleased?

She went down to supper shivering with misery and apprehension. What a
meal it would be with Maisie cold and aloof, polite and indifferent! But
Maisie was cheerful, gay almost, and her mother felt a passion of
gratitude to her daughter for not being sulky or unapproachable. Maisie,
however, was only stepping back to jump the better.

The same scene, with intenser variations, was played about twice a week
till the girl got her way, as she always did in the end, except in the
matter of cheap finery. Taste in dress was as vital to the mother as her
religion. Then, through the influence of an old governess of her
mother's, Maisie got her wish. She was to go as companion to an old
lady, the mother of Lady Yalding, and she was to live at Yalding Towers.
Here was splendour--here would be life, incident, opportunity! For her
reading had sometimes strayed from _Home Hints_ to the _Family Herald_,
and she knew exactly what are the chances of romance to a humble
companion in the family of a lady of title.

And now Maisie's mother gave way to her, finally and completely, even on
the question of dress. The old wardrobe was ransacked to find materials
to fit her out with clothes for her new venture. It was a beautiful time
for Maisie. New things, and old things made to look as good as new, or
better. It was like having a trou