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By Fred M. Simpson

Lucy.There! I think that will do, although it isn't anything very great.[Rises.]What a colour I must have! Harold says I always manage to toast myself very much better than I do the bread.[Lights the gas, and begins arranging some flowers on the table.]His favourite flowers; I know he will be pleased when he sees them. How strange it is that he should really care for me!—I, who am so commonplace and ordinary, hardly pretty either, although he says I am. I always tell him he might have done so much better than propose to a poor governess without a penny.—Oh, if only his book proves a success!—a really great success!—how glorious it will be!—Why doesn't the wretched Rh