that blessed
hat of mine."

Miss Chapman's face straightened out from its shocked expression. "Your
hat? Why do you want to change it? It's very nice as it is."

"My dear Miss Chapman, it's at least six months out of date.--Ziely,
you're crying!"

"I'm not," said Miss Zielinski weakly, caught in the act of blowing her
nose.

"How on earth can you cry over a book? As if it were true!"

"I thank God I haven't such a cold heart as you."

"And I thank God I'm not a romantic idiot. But your name's not Thekla
for nothing I suppose."

"My name's as good as yours. And I won't be looked down on because my
father was once a German."

"'Mr. Kayser, do you vant to buy a dawg?'" hummed Miss Snodgrass.

"Girls, girls!" admonished Miss Chapman. "How you two do bicker.--
There, that's Mrs. Gurley now! And it's long past ten."

At the creaking of the front door both juniors rose, gathered their
belongings together, and hurried from the room. But it was a false
alarm; and having picked up some crumbs and set the chairs in order,
Miss Chapman resumed her seat. As she waited, she looked about her and
wondered, with a sigh, whether it would ever be her good fortune to
call this cheery little room her own. It was only at moments like the
present that she could indulge such a dream. Did Mrs. Gurley stand
before her, majestic in bonnet and mantle, as in a minute or two she
would, or draped in her great shawl, thoughts of this kind sank to
their proper level, and Miss Chapman knew them for what they were
worth. But sitting alone by night, her chin in her hand, her eyes on
the dying fire, around her the eerie stillness of the great house, her
ambition did not seem wholly out of reach; and, giving rein to her
fancy, she could picture herself sweeping through halls and rooms,
issuing orders that it was the business of others to fulfil, could even
think out a few changes that should be made, were she head of the staff.

But the insertion of Mrs. Gurley's key in the lock, the sound of her
foot on the oilcloth, was enough to waken a sense of guilt in Miss
Chapman, and make her start to her feet--the drab, elderly, apologetic
governess once more.

XII.

DA REGIERT DER NACHBAR, DA WIRD MAN NACHBAR.

NIETZSCHE

You might regulate your outward habit to the last button of what you
were expected to wear; you might conceal the tiny flaws and shuffle
over the big improprieties in your home life, which were likely to
damage your