the sunlight; it must be
beautiful out of doors. Why don't we walk about in the garden? Do you
care for a wrap? I'll send Kate to fetch you something, if you do."

Miss Pringle having decided that her coat was sufficiently warm if they
did not sit anywhere too long and just walked in the paths where it was
sure not to be damp, they went out of the gloomy drawing-room into the
bright afternoon sunshine.

"Don't you love a garden when things are just beginning to show their
heads? I sometimes think that spring is the most beautiful of all the
seasons. It's like watching the birth of a new world. I think the most
human thing about poor Miss Wickham was her fondness for flowers. She
always said she hoped she'd never die in winter."

To Miss Pringle, the note of regret which crept now and again into
Nora's voice when she spoke of her late employer was a continual source
of bewilderment. Here was a woman who she knew had a quick temper and a
passionate nature speaking as if she actually sorrowed for the tyrant
who had so frequently made her life unbearable. She was sure that she
couldn't have felt more grieved if Providence had seen fit to remove the
excellent Mrs. Hubbard from the scene of her earthly activities. Poor
Miss Pringle! She did not realize that after thirty years of a life
passed as a hired companion that she no longer possessed either
sensibility or the power of affection. To her, one employer would be
very like another so long as they were fairly considerate and not too
unreasonable. It would be tiresome, to be sure, to have to learn the
little likes and dislikes of Mrs. Hubbard's successor. But what would
you? Life was filled with tiresome moments. Poor Miss Pringle!

Her next remark was partly to make conversation and partly because she
might obtain further light upon this perplexing subject. She made a
mental note that she must not forget to speak to Mrs. Hubbard of Nora's
grief over Miss Wickham's death. Naturally, she would be gratified.

"Well, it must be a great relief to you now it's all over," she said.

"Sometimes I can't realize it," said Nora simply. "These last few weeks
I hardly got to bed at all, and when the end came I was utterly
exhausted. For two days I have done nothing but sleep. Poor Miss
Wickham. She did hate dying."

Miss Pringle had a sort of triumph. She had proved her point. Even Mrs.
Hubbard could not doubt it now! "That's the extraordinary part of it. I
believe you were real