Sir Noel's Heir: A Novel. May Agnes Fleming

it, mamma?"

      Little May, quite unabashed, displayed her dead prizes, and cut short the doctor's conference by impatiently pulling her play-fellow away.

      "Come, Rupert, come," she cried. "I want to catch the black one with the yellow wings. Stick your tongue out and come."

      Sir Rupert displayed his tongue, and submitted his pulse to the doctor, and let himself be pulled away by May.

      "The gray mare in that span is decidedly the better horse," laughed the doctor. "What a little despot in pinafores it is."

      When her visitors had left, Lady Thetford walked to the window and stood watching the two children racing in the sunshine. It was a pretty sight, but the lady's face was contracted with pain.

      "No, no," she thought. "I hope not – I pray not. Strange! but I never thought of the possibility before. She will be poor, and Rupert must marry a rich wife, so that if – "

      She paused, with a sort of shudder, then added:

      "What will he think, my darling boy, of his father and mother if that day ever comes?"

      CHAPTER IV.

      MRS. WEYMORE

      Lady Thetford had settled her business satisfactorily with the rector of St Gosport.

      "Nothing could be more opportune," he said. "I am going to London next week on business which will detain me upward of a fortnight. I will immediately advertise for such a person as you want."

      "You must understand," said her ladyship, "I do not require a young girl. I wish a middle-aged person – a widow, for instance, who has had children of her own. Both Rupert and May are spoiled – May particularly is perfectly unmanageable. A young girl as governess for her would never do."

      Mr. Knight departed with these instructions and the following week started for the great metropolis. An advertisement was at once inserted in the Times newspaper, stating all Lady Thetford's requirements, and desiring immediate application. Another week later, and Lady Thetford received the following communication:

      "Dear Lady Thetford – I have been fairly besieged with applications for the past week – all widows, and all professing to be thoroughly competent. Clergyman's widows, doctors' widows, officers' widows – all sorts of widows. I never before thought so many could apply for one situation. I have chosen one in sheer desperation – the widow of a country gentleman in distressed circumstances, who, I think, will suit. She is eminently respectable in appearance, quiet and lady-like in manner, with five years' experience in the nursery-governess line, and the highest recommendation from her late employers. She has lost a child, she tells me, and from her looks and manner altogether, I should judge she was a person conversant with misfortune. She will return with me early next week – her name is Mrs. Weymore."

      Lady Thetford read this letter with a little sigh of relief – some one else would have the temper and outbreaks of little May to contend with now. She wrote to Captain Everard that same day, to announce his daughter's well-being, and inform him that she had found a suitable governess to take charge of her.

      The second day of the ensuing week the rector and the new governess arrived. A fly from the railway brought her and her luggage to Thetford Towers late in the afternoon, and she was taken at once to the room that had been prepared for her, whilst the servant went to inform Lady Thetford of her arrival.

      "Fetch her here at once," said her ladyship, who was alone, as usual, in the long drawing-room with the children, "I wish to see her."

      Ten minutes after the drawing-room door was flung open, and "Mrs. Weymore, my lady," announced the footman.

      Lady Thetford arose to receive her new dependent, who bowed and stood before her with a somewhat fluttered and embarrassed air. She was quite young, not older than my lady herself, and eminently good-looking. The tall, slender figure, clad in widow's weeds, was as symmetrical as Lady Thetford's own, and the full black dress set off the pearly fairness of the blonde skin, and the rich abundance of fair hair. Lady Thetford's brows contracted a little; her fair, subdued, gentle-looking, girlish young woman, was hardly the strong-minded, middle-aged matron she had expected to take the nonsense out of obstreperous May Everard.

      "Mrs. Weymore, I believe," said Lady Thetford, resuming her fauteuil, "pray be seated. I wished to see you at once, because I am going out this evening. You have had five years' experience as a nursery-governess, Mr. Knight tells me."

      "Yes, my lady."

      There was a little tremor in Mrs. Weymore's low voice, and her blue eyes shifted and fell under Lady Thetford's steady and somewhat haughty gaze.

      "Yet you look young – much younger than I imagined, or wished."

      "I am twenty-seven years old, my lady."

      That was my lady's own age precisely, but she looked half a dozen years the elder of the two.

      "Are you a native of London?"

      "No, my lady, of Berkshire."

      "And you have been a widow, how long?"

      What ailed Mrs. Weymore? She was all white and trembling – even her hands, folded and pressed together in her lap, shook in spite of her.

      "Eight years and more."

      She said it with a sort of sob, hysterically choked. Lady Thetford looked on surprised, and a trifle displeased. She was a very proud woman, and certainly wished for no scene with her hired dependents.

      "Eight years is a tolerable time," she said, coolly. "You have lost children?"

      "One, my lady."

      Again that choked, hysterical sob. My lady vent on pitilessly.

      "Is it long ago?"

      "When – when I lost its father?"

      "Ah! both together? That was rather hard. Well, I hope you understand the management of children – spoiled ones particularly. Here are the two you are to take charge of. Rupert – May come here."

      The children came over from their corner. Mrs. Weymore drew May toward her, but Sir Rupert held aloof.

      "This is my ward – this is my son. I presume Mr. Knight has told you. If you can subdue the temper of that child, you will prove yourself, indeed, a treasure. The east parlor has been fitted up for your use; the children will take their meals there with you; the room adjoining is to be the school-room. I have appointed one of the maids to wait on you. I trust you will find your chamber comfortable."