"--Whether Yorke will like it," went on Hamish, as though he had not
halted in his sentence. And the pretty blush in Constance Channing's
face deepened to a glowing crimson. Tom made a whole heap of bullets at
once, and showered them on to her.

"So Hamish--be quiet, Tom!--you may inquire all over Helstonleigh
to-morrow, whether any one wants a governess; a well-trained young lady
of twenty-one, who can play, sing, and paint, speak really good
English, and decent French, and has a smattering of German," rattled on
Constance, as if to cover her blushes. "I shall ask forty guineas a
year. Do you think I shall get it?"

"I think you ought to ask eighty," said Arthur.

"So I would, if I were thirty-one instead of twenty-one," said
Constance. "Oh dear! here am I, laughing and joking over it, but it is
a serious thing to undertake--the instruction of the young. I hope I
shall be enabled to do my duty in it. What's that?"

It was a merry, mocking laugh, which came from the outside of the
window, and then a head of auburn hair, wild and entangled, was pushed
up, and in burst Annabel, her saucy dark eyes dancing with delight.

"You locked me out, but I have been outside the window and heard it
all," cried she, dancing before them in the most provoking manner.
"Arthur can only be a paid clerk, and Constance is going to be a
governess and get forty guineas a year, and if Tom doesn't gain his
exhibition he must turn bell-ringer to the college, for papa can't pay
for him at the university now!"