eard the
girl raise the point now, but Therese had all the carelessness of youth.

"Oh, I shall not be down-hearted," she exclaimed. "My poor grannie
always gave me an example of energy and hard work; I've got plenty of
pluck, and I will work too. Suppose I turn governess?"

M. Rambert looked at her thoughtfully.

"My dear child, I know how brave and earnest you are, and that gives me
confidence. I have thought about your future a great deal already. Some
day, of course, some nice and wealthy young fellow will come along and
marry you---- Oh, yes, he will: you'll see. But in the meantime it will
be necessary for you to have some occupation. I am wondering whether it
will not be necessary to let, or even to sell Beaulieu. And, on the
other hand, you can't always stay with the Baronne de Vibray."

"No, I realise that," said Therese, who, with the native tact that was
one of her best qualities, had quickly seen that it would not be long
before she would become a difficulty in the way of the independence of
the kind Baronne. "That is what troubles me most."

"Your birth and your upbringing have been such that you would certainly
suffer much in taking up the difficult and delicate, and sometimes
painful, position of governess in a family; and, without wishing to be
offensive, I must remind you that you need to have studied very hard to
be a governess nowadays, and I am not aware that you are exactly a
blue-stocking. But I have an idea, and this is it: for a great many
years now I have been on the very friendliest terms with a lady who
belongs to the very best English society: Lady Beltham; you may perhaps
have heard me speak of her." Therese opened wide eyes of astonishment,
and Rambert went on: "A few months ago Lady Beltham lost her husband in
strange circumstances, and since then she has been good enough to give
me more of her confidence than previously. She is immensely rich, and
very charitable, and I have frequently been asked by her to look after
some of her many financial interests. Now I have often noticed that she
has with her several young English ladies who live with her, not as
companions, but, shall I say, secretaries? Do you understand the
difference? She treats them like friends or relatives, and they all
belong to the very best social class, some of them indeed being
daughters of English peers. If Lady Beltham, to whom I could speak about
it, would admit you into her little company, I am sure you would b