“She told me,” answered the governess.

 

“I expected Prof. Bouvier to furnish dancing music—in fact, I had engaged him—but I have just received a note stating that he is unwell, and I am left unprovided. It is very inconsiderate on his part,” added the lady, in a tone of annoyance¹.

 

Florence did not reply. She took rather a different view of the professor’s letter, and did not care to offend Mrs. Leighton.

 

“Under the circumstances,” continued the lady, “it has occurred to me that, as you are really quite a nice performer, you might fill his place. I shall be willing to allow you a dollar for the evening. What do you say?”

 

Florence felt embarrassed. She shrank from appearing in society in her present separation from her family, yet could think of no good excuse. Noticing her hesitation², Mrs. Leighton added, patronizingly:

 

“On second thought, I will pay you a dollar and a half”—Prof. Bouvier was to have charged ten dollars—“and you will be kind enough to come in your best attire³. You seem to be well provided with dresses.”

 

“Yes, madam, there will be no difficulty on that score.”

 

“Nor on any other, I hope. As governess in my family, I think I have a right to command your services.”

 

“I will come,” said Florence, meekly⁴. She felt that it would not do to refuse after this.

 

As she entered the handsomely decorated rooms on the night of the party, she looked around her nervously⁵, fearing to see some one whom she had known in earlier days. She noticed one only—Percy de Brabazon, whose face lighted up when he saw her, for he had been expecting to see her.

 

She managed to convey a caution by a quiet movement, as it would not be wise for Mrs. Leighton to know of their previous acquaintance. But Percy was

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