"Miss Wickham has left me nothing," said Nora in a dead voice.

Miss Pringle gave a positive wail of anguish. "Oh-h-h-h."

"Not a penny. Oh, it's cruel!" the girl said, almost wildly. "After
all," she went on bitterly, "there was no need for her to leave me
anything. She gave me board and lodging and thirty pounds a year. If I
stayed it was because I chose. But she needn't have promised me
anything. She needn't have prevented me from marrying."

"My dear, you could never have married that little assistant. He wasn't
a gentleman," Miss Pringle reminded her.

"Ten years! The ten best years of a woman's life, when other girls are
enjoying themselves. And what did I get for it? Board and lodging and
thirty pounds a year. A cook does better than that."

"We can't expect to make as much money as a good cook," said Miss
Pringle, with touching and unconscious pathos. "One has to pay something
for living like a lady among people of one's own class."

"Oh, it's cruel!" Nora could only repeat.

"My dear," said Miss Pringle with an effort at consolation, "don't give
way. I'm sure you'll have no difficulty in finding another situation.
You wash lace beautifully and no one can arrange flowers like you."

Nora sank wearily into a chair. "And I was dreaming of France and
Italy--I shall spend ten years more with an old lady, and then she'll