chment to his wife and child. Mrs. Ogilvie must also be
sorry when she remembered that it would be many months before she saw
him again. But there was no sorrow now in the soft eyes which met his,
nothing but a look of distinct annoyance.

"Really," she said with an impatient movement, "I must confide in some
one, and why not in you, Mr. Rochester, as well as another? I have
already told you that my husband is absolutely silly about that
child. From her birth he has done all that man could do to spoil her."

"But without succeeding," interrupted Jim Rochester. "I am quite
friendly with your little Sibyl now," he added, "and I never saw a
nicer little girl."

"Oh, that is what strangers always say," replied Mrs. Ogilvie,
shrugging her shoulders, "and the child is nice, I am not denying it
for a moment, but she would be nicer if she were not simply ruined. He
wants her to live in an impossible world, without any contradictions
or even the smallest pain. You will scarcely believe it, but he would
not allow me, the other day, to tell her such a very simple, ordinary
thing as that he was going to Queensland on business, and now, in his
letter, he still begs of me to keep it a secret from her. She is not
to know anything about his absence until she returns to London,
because, forsooth, the extra week she is to spend in the country would
not do her so much good if she were fretting. Why should Sibyl fret?
Surely it is not worse for her than for me; not nearly as bad, for
that matter."

"I am glad you feel it," said Rochester.

"Feel it? What a strange remark! Did you think I was heartless? Of
course I feel it, but I am not going to be silly or sentimental over
the matter. Philip is a very lucky man to have this business to do. I
would not be so foolish as to keep him at home; but he is ruining that
child, ruining her. She gets more spoilt and intolerable every day."

"Forgive me, Mrs. Ogilvie," said Lady Helen, who came upon the scene
at that moment, "I heard you talking of your little daughter. I don't
think I ever met a sweeter child."

Mrs. Ogilvie threw up her hands in protest.

"There you go," she said. "Mr. Rochester has been saying almost the
very same words, Lady Helen. Now let me tell you that Sibyl is not
your child; no one can be more charming to strangers."

As Mrs. Ogilvie spoke she walked a few steps away; then she turned and
resumed her conversation.

"The annoying part of this letter," she said, "is