vanity of a bad woman who is in the presence of her superior.

"No!" answered Maggie slowly, tracing the veins of the marble across the
mantel-piece. "No--o, not that."

Etta looked up at her. It was rather singular that she did not ask what
Maggie did think. Perhaps she was afraid of a certain British honesty
which characterized the girl's thought and speech. Instead she rose and
indulged in a yawn which may have been counterfeit, but it was a good
counterfeit.

"Will you have a biscuit?" she said.

"No, thanks."

"Then shall we go to bed?"

"Yes."




CHAPTER IX


THE PRINCE

The village of Osterno, lying, or rather scrambling, along the banks of
the river Oster, is at no time an exhilarating spot. It is a large
village, numbering over nine hundred souls, as the board affixed to its