undoubtedly big people. Money with them was plentiful. They considered
themselves county folk; they lived in what the Rosebury people
believed to be royal style.

Miss Martineau had for one short blissful week of her life spent the
time at Shortlands. She had been sent for in an emergency, to take the
place of a nursery governess who was ill. Her French had been of
little account in this great house, and her music had not been
tolerated. The poor old lady had indeed been rather snubbed. But what
of that? She was able to go back to her own intimate friends, and
entertain them with accounts of powdered footmen, of richly-dressed
London ladies, of a world of fashion which these people believed to be
Paradise.

Twice during her week's sojourn she had been addressed by Mrs.
Ellsworthy. No matter; from that day she considered herself one of the
great lady's acquaintances. Miss Martineau could be heroic when she
pleased, and there was certainly something of the heroic element about
her when she ventured to storm so mighty a citadel at eleven o'clock
in the morning.

Her very boldness, however, won her cause. The footman who opened the
door might look as supercilious as he pleased, but he was obliged to
deliver her messages, and Mrs. Ellsworthy, with a good-humored smile,
consented to see her.

Their interview was short, but Miss Martineau, when she launched on
her theme, quite forgot that she was poor and her auditor rich. Mrs.
Ellsworthy, too, after a few glances into the thin and earnest face of
the governess, ceased to think of that antiquated poke bonnet, or the