Or, it appeared that the slugs had attacked the rose trees in unusual
numbers. The gardener was in despair as he was already behind with
setting out the annuals. "Would Miss Marsh mind while Miss Wickham had
her little after-luncheon nap----!" Miss Marsh did mind. She loved
flowers; to arrange them was a delight--at least it had been once--but
she hated slugs. But she was too young and too inexperienced to know how
to combat the subtle encroachments upon her own time made by this
selfish old woman. And so, gradually, she had found that she was not
only companion, but a sort of superior lady's maid and assistant
gardener as well. And all for thirty pounds a year and her keep.

And alas! Prince Charming had never appeared, unless--Nora laughed aloud
at the thought--he had disguised himself with a cleverness defying
detection. With Reginald Hornby, a callow youth, the son of Miss
Wickham's dearest friend, who occasionally made the briefest of duty
visits; Mr. Wynne, the family solicitor, an elderly bachelor; and the
doctor's assistant, a young person by the name of Gard, Nora's list of
eligible men was complete. There had been a time when Nora had flirted
with the idea of escaping from bondage by becoming the wife of young
Gard.

He was a rather common young man, but he had been sincerely in love with
her. He was not sufficiently subtle to recognize that it was the idea of
escaping from Miss Wickham and the deadly monotony of her days that
tempted her. He had laid his case before Miss Wickham. There had been
some terrible scenes. Nora had felt the lash of her employer's bitter
tongue. Partly because she was still smarting from the attack, and
partly because she was indignant with her suitor for having gone to Miss
Wickham at all and particularly without consulting her, she, too, had
turned on the unfortunate young man. There had been mutual