plainly," was her father's meek answer.
"You are quite right, Barbara. I feel that I am to blame."

"I don't think you are at all," said Madeline, with decision. "Your
letters were plain enough, if we had chosen to pay any attention to
them."

Her father looked up apprehensively, deprecating defence of himself at
the cost of family discord. But he was powerless to prevent the
gathering storm. Mrs. Denyer gazed sternly at her recalcitrant
daughter, and at length discharged upon the girl's head all the wrath
with which this situation inspired her. Barbara took her mother's side.
Zillah wept and sobbed words of reconciliation. The unhappy cause of
the tumult took refuge at the window, sunk in gloom.

However, there was no doubt about it this time; trunks must be packed,
bills must be paid, indignities must be swallowed. The Aunt Dora of
whom Mr. Denyer had spoken was his own sister, the wife of a
hotel-keeper at Southampton. Some seven years ago, in a crisis of the
Denyers' fate, she had hospitably housed them for several months, and
was now willing to do as much again, notwithstanding the arrogance with
which Mrs. Denyer had repaid her. To the girls it had formerly mattered
little where they lived; at their present age, it was far otherwise.
The hotel was of a very modest description; society would become out of
the question in such a retreat. Madeline and Zillah might choose, as
the less of two evils, the lot for which they declared themselves
ready; but Barbara had no notion of turning governess. She shortly went
to her bedroom, and spent a very black hour indeed.

They were to start to-morrow morning. With rage Barbara saw the
interdiction of hopes which were just becoming serious. Another month
of those after-dinner colloquies in the drawing-room, and who could say
what point of intimacy Mr. Musselwhite might have reached. He was
growing noticeably more articulate; he was less absentminded. Oh, for a
month more!

This evening she took her usual place, and at length had the tormenting
gratification of seeing Mr. Musselwhite approach in the usual way.
Though sitting next to him at dinner, she had said nothing of what
would happen on the morrow; the present was a better opportunity.

"You have no book this evening, Miss Denyer!"

"No."

"No headache, I hope?"

"Yes, I have a little headache."

He looked at her with gentlemanly sympathy.

"I have had to see to a lot of things in a hurry. Unexpectedly, we ha