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Shortly after tea on Monday evening Miss Thompson ran downstairs and burst suddenly into Mrs. Mitford's presence. Mrs. Mitford was engaged with her own packing, which had to be done in the most judicious way. She had given the child to understand that she and her father were going to the south of France for a time.

"We are going there," she said to the governess. "Don't look at me so reproachfully. You know we are going to Marseilles, and surely that is the south of France."

"Well," said Miss Thompson, "I must speak. I don't like it, Mrs. Mitford; I don't like it at all. I'm glad the time of deception is over. Sometimes, do you know, I think Christian guesses."

"Christian guesses!" cried her mother. "How could she? I hope you have been careful. I told you all her things were to be packed in the north spare-room. She is taking almost everything new with her. She needn't have known anything. You have told; you have betrayed your trust."

"No, I have not," said Miss Thompson quietly. "I have been as careful as a woman could be. But Christian is a sharp child, and she can put two and two together. I suppose, Mrs. Mitford, you will soon tell her now?"