Do They Get Paid On The Masked Singer

1. Do They Get Paid To Be On The Masked Singer
2. Do The Judges Get Paid On The Masked Singer
3. Do They Win Money On The Masked Singer

1. I'm laid back and get. Dating a narcissist man quiz Jul 26, 2015 During the initial phase of dating, the narcissist may pour on the charm and entice.
2. Mud mask by Sylo Nozra, released 12 September 20181. Je t'adore (feat.

OUR economy is in the toilet, Britain’s hospitality industry is ruined and theatres are closed across the country, indefinitely.

Try to think of the positives though, and the knock-on effect that could have on contestants taking part in next year’s series of The Masked Singer.

' But underneath all the names there is only one Immortal Man; and we are that man.' (MK Ultrasound ) Previously I have attempte. The Rottweiler on 'The Masked Singer' sounds like a professional singer. The judges loved his performance of 'Maneater.' On teaching, learning, travelling.

A year from now, we’ll have Benedict Cumberbatch stepping out of a turtle costume, Dame Judi Dench giving us her definitive take on “Jellyfish” and Jacob Rees-Mogg eloquently explaining: “My son Sixtus Dominic Boniface would never have forgiven me if I’d turned down the chance to be ‘Thingymajig’.”

Possibly.

In the meantime, we’re four episodes into ITV’s second series of The Masked Singer, which is still hosted by Joel Dommett, the only person who didn’t begin the opening dance routine of the run wearing a suit emblazoned with the legend “Who?”

And there’s irony.

I don’t think he’d have minded the indignity, either, as it’s clear Joel can’t quite believe he’s landed a show with such a brilliantly simple reveal at the heart of its format.

So far, this run, he’s screamed: “TAKE IT OFF”, at Sophie Ellis-Bextor (Alien), Mel B (Seahorse) and Martine McCutcheon (Swan).

Then, on Saturday night, “Grandfather Clock” was unmasked as Spurs and England legend Glenn Hoddle, who gave the role absolutely everything and seemed touchingly reluctant to let go of his costume.

There are still eight more contestants to go, including a farting Dragon creature, who everyone thinks is Michelle Visage, Harlequin, Badger, Robin, who performed the trippiest routine of the series, with a piano-playing hedge on episode three, and a four-eyed purple monstrosity called The Blob, who we’ll get to in a minute.

Almost as fascinating as the contestants, though, are the four panellists, who have been joined by Mo Gilligan, who’s definitely an improvement on Ken Jeong, but not to the tune of the jarring £100,000 an episode he’s reportedly being paid.

Perspex glass now separates the judges and you get the impression it’s not just for Covid-related reasons, given the pleasing undercurrent of antipathy that appears to exist between Rita Ora and Jonathan Ross, who really has upped his competitive game this series and is getting right under her skin.

The spare part now is frustrated presenter Davina McCall, who’s full of flatteringly useless suggestions and is desperately trying to bend The Masked Singer to her own will by describing it as: “So positive and joyous.”

And it is, up to a point, I suppose.

It’s another irony of the format, however, that it’s actually at its best when the judges are puncturing the showbiz egos inside those costumes.

'No grand pretensions'

I thought, for instance, Mel B was going to turn the tables and rip Jonathan Ross’s head off when he suggested she might be “Trisha Goddard”.

Harlequin also visibly prickled at Mo’s “Scarlett Moffatt” suggestion. But the highlight of the run, so far, was probably Martine McCutcheon’s dying swan routine, when she heard Mo volunteer the words “Ruby Wax?”

I’d have paid a lot of money for a glimpse behind the mask at that stage.
None of which, of course, means The Masked Singer is elevating television or humanity every Saturday night.

Unlike lame duck projects like The Voice, though, it doesn’t have any of these grand pretensions about itself.

All it seeks to do is entertain, and my heartbeat cannot lie in this respect. It races every week at The Masked Singer’s big reveal because I’m more engaged by this stupid show than I ever thought possible.

And you can call that a guilty secret, a mistake, a stir-crazy symptom of lockdown or whatever you like.

I still really want to know who’s behind every mask and think I have an answer to one of the biggest questions of the series.

“Is Lenny Henry inside The Blob?” No. They got divorced in 2010.

Unexpected morons in the bagging area

(With thanks to Ray Woodford and Steff Koen.)

ITV, call off the Hound

FIRST episode of 2021’s socially distanced Dancing On Ice involved the contestants performing with lots of injuries, but little of the usual help from ITV’s costume and make-up departments.

So we saw a bit too much of Rebekah Vardy’s pants, but not nearly enough of Matt Evers attempting the never-seen-before “bin day” lift on Denise Van Outen, who was skating with a dislocated shoulder, like an absolute trouper.

The contestant who needs to be vanished completely, though, is Rufus Hound.

He’s been partnered with his radical conscience, which led him to denounce politicians, during Phillip Schofield’s golden ticket ceremony, of all places, for not caring about “hungry children” nearly as much as third-rate comedians, with no responsibility, like to tell us they do.

The crumb of comfort here is that Rufus has also promised, “I’ll blow myself up”, on ice, if there’s enough demand from YouTube.

Rufus, the Billion Hits Club awaits.

Great Sporting Insights

(Compiled by Graham Wray)

Colin Bryce: “Norbert Loch. One man who doesn’t have favourites, I guess, because he’s got so many.”

Paul Merson: “Spurs have got seven match winners in their team and two on the bench. That’s eight match winners in their squad.”

Tim Sherwood: “Brighton are going to get dragged into a relegation battle even though they’re already in it.”

Great TV lies and delusions of the month

Good Morning Britain, Ben Shephard: “There will be a lot of people who say, ‘Get Miriam Margolyes back now’.”

Inside The Factory: Yogurt, Gregg Wallace: “This is getting very interesting.”

The Real Housewives Of Jersey, Ashley: “Who doesn’t want to see Tessa Hartmann naked?” (Some time later) 67,886,010, 67,886,011. Yep. Everyone.

Acting daft by Russell

BEST television drama of last week was ITV’s The Pembrokeshire Murders, although I thought the fact gay Welsh actor Luke Evans was portraying a straight English policeman, Steve Wilkins, meant his performance lacked authenticity.

Well, no, of course I didn’t.

It would be the height of madness to contemplate something so small-minded and I wouldn’t even have mentioned it if Doctor Who writer Russell T Davies hadn’t told this week’s Radio Times he’d cast gay actors for his new Aids-related drama, It’s A Sin, because straight actors would’ve lacked “authenticity”.

Adding: “You wouldn’t cast someone able-bodied and put them in a wheelchair.”

Instead of pointing out the rather obvious hole in this argument, of course, the Radio Times indulged Russell T Davies’s double standards, as did a lot of other chin-strokers who would’ve exploded with outrage if such bigotry had been thrown at them from the other side of the political spectrum.

So before you knew it, earnest daytime TV shows, like Steph’s Packed Lunch, were “opening up” what TV people like to call “an important conversation” on the subject.

That is to say, a conversation of absolutely no importance that really shouldn’t be opened at all.

For the record, though, able-bodied actors Daniel Day-Lewis and Eddie Redmayne were put in wheelchairs when they pretended to be Christy Brown and Stephen Hawking and won Oscars.

Awards that, for reasons of stupidity and prejudice, aren’t ever going to come Russell’s way.

QUIZ show host of the week was the heroic presenter of PE With Joe Wicks, who hit us with this curveball, between star-jumps, on Wednesday’s workout: “What is the capital, nah.

'Cairo is the capital of . . . I got it wrong.

'What is the capital of Egypt? No. Cairo is the capital city of which country?”

No conferring.

TV Gold

Keith Allen’s outstanding performance in The Pembrokeshire Murders.

Sean Lock’s Mayor Of Sexy Town Eurovision entry on 8 Out Of 10 Cats Does Countdown.

Bradley Walsh dyke vaulting and climbing his way through a funny episode of Breaking Dad. Kenneth Cranham rising above the pretty awful Finding Alice script.

And This Morning’s discussion about Danish cartoon John Willyman, the man with the eight-metre nob, which concluded with Phillip Schofield shouting: “WHAT’S NEXT? THE SUPER-HUMAN VAGINA?” and could only have been improved by Holly Willoughby replying: “No, it’s John Torode’s recipe for meatball traybake.”

Telly quiz

Where would you have heard the following words spoken, on Thursday:

“In your opinion, is making this enormous penis a bit of a hero a good idea?”

A) This Morning host Phillip Schofield discussing Danish children’s cartoons?

B) A GMB strategy meeting discussing Piers Morgan?

Random TV irritations

Yellow car-parking lines appearing in Bridgerton’s depiction of Regency London.

Holly Willoughby asking This Morning’s South African safari guide if she can see “Tigers tomorrow?” (unlikely).

All those insanely stupid hippies avoiding every opportunity to escape from BBC1’s mass murderer The Serpent.

Compulsory Dancing On Ice irritant Rufus Hound somehow combining the very worst of Hale & Pace with Rick from The Young Ones.

And This Morning pundit Matthew Wright adding “miniature ponytail” to the long list of reasons he shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a TV camera, which also includes: Hand talking, vest wearing, face pulling, Guardian spouting, Hawkwind droning, jumble sale lurking and schoolboy laughing. Go haunt some other ramparts, please.

CLARIFICATION required. The Last Leg, Australian egomaniac Adam Hills: “My daughter said, ‘Daddy, why are you going back?’

I said, ‘Because the people of Britain need cheering up and I need to go back to cheer them up’.”

Back to Australia, right?

Lookalike of the week

GOT a story? RING The Sun on 0207 782 4104 or WHATSAPP on 07423720250 or EMAIL exclusive@the-sun.co.uk

Author: A. M. Barnard

_chapter I_

JEAN MUIR

'Has she come?'

'No, Mamma, not yet.'

'I wish it were well over. The thought of it worries and excites me. A

cushion for my back, Bella.'

And poor, peevish Mrs. Coventry sank into an easy chair with a nervous

sigh and the air of a martyr, while her pretty daughter hovered about

her with affectionate solicitude.

'Who are they talking of, Lucia?' asked the languid young man lounging

on a couch near his cousin, who bent over her tapestry work with a happy

smile on her usually haughty face.

'The new governess, Miss Muir. Shall I tell you about her?'

'No, thank you. I have an inveterate aversion to the whole tribe. I've

often thanked heaven that I had but one sister, and she a spoiled child,

so that I have escaped the infliction of a governess so long.'

'How will you bear it now?' asked Lucia.

'Leave the house while she is in it.'

'No, you won't. You're too lazy, Gerald,' called out a younger and more

energetic man, from the recess where he stood teasing his dogs.

'I'll give her a three days' trial; if she proves endurable I shall not

disturb myself; if, as I am sure, she is a bore, I'm off anywhere,

anywhere out of her way.'

'I beg you won't talk in that depressing manner, boys. I dread the

coming of a stranger more than you possibly can, but Bella _must_ not be

neglected; so I have nerved myself to endure this woman, and Lucia is

good enough to say she will attend to her after tonight.'

'Don't be troubled, Mamma. She is a nice person, I dare say, and when

once we are used to her, I've no doubt we shall be glad to have her,

it's so dull here just now. Lady Sydney said she was a quiet,

accomplished, amiable girl, who needed a home, and would be a help to

poor stupid me, so try to like her for my sake.'

'I will, dear, but isn't it getting late? I do hope nothing has

happened. Did you tell them to send a carriage to the station for

her, Gerald?'

'I forgot it. But it's not far, it won't hurt her to walk' was the

languid reply.

'It was indolence, not forgetfulness, I know. I'm very sorry; she will

think it so rude to leave her to find her way so late. Do go and see

to it, Ned.'

'Too late, Bella, the train was in some time ago. Give your orders to me

next time. Mother and I'll see that they are obeyed,' said Edward.

'Ned is just at an age to make a fool of himself for any girl who

comes in his way. Have a care of the governess, Lucia, or she will

bewitch him.'

Gerald spoke in a satirical whisper, but his brother heard him and

answered with a good-humored laugh.

'I wish there was any hope of your making a fool of yourself in that

way, old fellow. Set me a good example, and I promise to follow it. As

for the governess, she is a woman, and should be treated with common

civility. I should say a little extra kindness wouldn't be amiss,

either, because she is poor, and a stranger.'

'That is my dear, good-hearted Ned! We'll stand by poor little Muir,

won't we?' And running to her brother, Bella stood on tiptoe to offer

him a kiss which he could not refuse, for the rosy lips were pursed up

invitingly, and the bright eyes full of sisterly affection.

'I do hope she has come, for, when I make an effort to see anyone, I

hate to make it in vain. Punctuality is _such_ a virtue, and I know this

woman hasn't got it, for she promised to be here at seven, and now it is

long after,' began Mrs. Coventry, in an injured tone.

Before she could get breath for another complaint, the clock struck

seven and the doorbell rang.

'There she is!' cried Bella, and turned toward the door as if to go and

meet the newcomer.

But Lucia arrested her, saying authoritatively, 'Stay here, child. It is

her place to come to you, not yours to go to her.'

'Miss Muir,' announced a servant, and a little black-robed figure stood

in the doorway. For an instant no one stirred, and the governess had

time to see and be seen before a word was uttered. All looked at her,

and she cast on the household group a keen glance that impressed them

curiously; then her eyes fell, and bowing slightly she walked in. Edward

came forward and received her with the frank cordiality which nothing

could daunt or chill.

'Mother, this is the lady whom you expected. Miss Muir, allow me to

apologize for our apparent neglect in not sending for you. There was a

mistake about the carriage, or, rather, the lazy fellow to whom the

order was given forgot it. Bella, come here.'

'Thank you, no apology is needed. I did not expect to be sent for.' And

the governess meekly sat down without lifting her eyes.

'I am glad to see you. Let me take your things,' said Bella, rather

shyly, for Gerald, still lounging, watched the fireside group with

languid interest, and Lucia never stirred. Mrs. Coventry took a second

survey and began:

'You were punctual, Miss Muir, which pleases me. I'm a sad invalid, as

Lady Sydney told you, I hope; so that Miss Coventry's lessons will be

directed by my niece, and you will go to her for directions, as she

knows what I wish. You will excuse me if I ask you a few questions, for

Lady Sydney's note was very brief, and I left everything to her

judgment.'

'Ask anything you like, madam,' answered the soft, sad voice.

'You are Scotch, I believe.'

'Yes, madam.'

'Are your parents living?'

'I have not a relation in the world.'

'Dear me, how sad! Do you mind telling me your age?'

'Nineteen.' And a smile passed over Miss Muir's lips, as she folded her

hands with an air of resignation, for the catechism was evidently to be

a long one.

'So young! Lady Sydney mentioned five-and-twenty, I think, didn't

she, Bella?'

'No, Mamma, she only said she thought so. Don't ask such questions. It's

not pleasant before us all,' whispered Bella.

A quick, grateful glance shone on her from the suddenly lifted eyes of

Miss Muir, as she said quietly, 'I wish I was thirty, but, as I am not,

I do my best to look and seem old.'

Of course, every one looked at her then, and all felt a touch of pity at

the sight of the pale-faced girl in her plain black dress, with no

ornament but a little silver cross at her throat. Small, thin, and

colorless she was, with yellow hair, gray eyes, and sharply cut,

irregular, but very expressive features. Poverty seemed to have set its

bond stamp upon her, and life to have had for her more frost than

sunshine. But something in the lines of the mouth betrayed strength, and

the clear, low voice had a curious mixture of command and entreaty in

its varying tones. Not an attractive woman, yet not an ordinary one;

and, as she sat there with her delicate hands lying in her lap, her head

bent, and a bitter look on her thin face, she was more interesting than

many a blithe and blooming girl. Bella's heart warmed to her at once,

and she drew her seat nearer, while Edward went back to his dogs that

his presence might not embarrass her.

'You have been ill, I think,' continued Mrs. Coventry, who considered

this fact the most interesting of all she had heard concerning the

governess.

'Yes, madam, I left the hospital only a week ago.'

'Are you quite sure it is safe to begin teaching so soon?'

'I have no time to lose, and shall soon gain strength here in the

country, if you care to keep me.'

'And you are fitted to teach music, French, and drawing?'

'I shall endeavor to prove that I am.'

'Be kind enough to go and play an air or two. I can judge by your touch;

I used to play finely when a girl.'

Miss Muir rose, looked about her for the instrument, and seeing it at

the other end of the room went toward it, passing Gerald and Lucia as if

she did not see them. Bella followed, and in a moment forgot everything

in admiration. Miss Muir played like one who loved music and was perfect

mistress of her art. She charmed them all by the magic of this spell;

even indolent Gerald sat up to listen, and Lucia put down her needle,

while Ned watched the slender white fingers as they flew, and wondered

at the strength and skill which they possessed.

'Please sing,' pleaded Bella, as a brilliant overture ended.

With the same meek obedience Miss Muir complied, and began a little

Scotch melody, so sweet, so sad, that the girl's eyes filled, and Mrs.

Coventry looked for one of her many pocket-handkerchiefs. But suddenly

the music ceased, for, with a vain attempt to support herself, the

singer slid from her seat and lay before the startled listeners, as

white and rigid as if struck with death. Edward caught her up, and,

ordering his brother off the couch, laid her there, while Bella chafed

her hands, and her mother rang for her maid. Lucia bathed the poor

girl's temples, and Gerald, with unwonted energy, brought a glass of

wine. Soon Miss Muir's lips trembled, she sighed, then murmured,

tenderly, with a pretty Scotch accent, as if wandering in the past,

'Bide wi' me, Mither, I'm sae sick an sad here all alone.'

'Take a sip of this, and it will do you good, my dear,' said Mrs.

Coventry, quite touched by the plaintive words.

The strange voice seemed to recall her. She sat up, looked about her, a

little wildly, for a moment, then collected herself and said, with a

pathetic look and tone, 'Pardon me. I have been on my feet all day, and,

in my eagerness to keep my appointment, I forgot to eat since morning.

I'm better now; shall I finish the song?'

'By no means. Come and have some tea,' said Bella, full of pity

and remorse.

'Scene first, very well done,' whispered Gerald to his cousin.

Miss Muir was just before them, apparently listening to Mrs. Coventry's

remarks upon fainting fits; but she heard, and looked over her shoulders

with a gesture like Rachel. Her eyes were gray, but at that instant they

seemed black with some strong emotion of anger, pride, or defiance. A

curious smile passed over her face as she bowed, and said in her

penetrating voice, 'Thanks. The last scene shall be still better.'

Young Coventry was a cool, indolent man, seldom conscious of any

emotion, any passion, pleasurable or otherwise; but at the look, the

tone of the governess, he experienced a new sensation, indefinable, yet

strong. He colored and, for the first time in his life, looked abashed.

Lucia saw it, and hated Miss Muir with a sudden hatred; for, in all the

years she had passed with her cousin, no look or word of hers had

possessed such power. Coventry was himself again in an instant, with no

trace of that passing change, but a look of interest in his usually

dreamy eyes, and a touch of anger in his sarcastic voice.

'What a melodramatic young lady! I shall go tomorrow.'

Lucia laughed, and was well pleased when he sauntered away to bring her

a cup of tea from the table where a little scene was just taking place.

Mrs. Coventry had sunk into her chair again, exhausted by the flurry of

the fainting fit. Bella was busied about her; and Edward, eager to feed

the pale governess, was awkwardly trying to make the tea, after a

beseeching glance at his cousin which she did not choose to answer. As

he upset the caddy and uttered a despairing exclamation, Miss Muir

quietly took her place behind the urn, saying with a smile, and a shy

glance at the young man, 'Allow me to assume my duty at once, and serve

you all. I understand the art of making people comfortable in this way.

The scoop, please. I can gather this up quite well alone, if you will

tell me how your mother likes her tea.'

Edward pulled a chair to the table and made merry over his mishaps,

while Miss Muir performed her little task with a skill and grace that

made it pleasant to watch her. Coventry lingered a moment after she had

given him a steaming cup, to observe her more nearly, while he asked a

question or two of his brother. She took no more notice of him than if

he had been a statue, and in the middle of the one remark he addressed

to her, she rose to take the sugar basin to Mrs. Coventry, who was quite

won by the modest, domestic graces of the new governess.

'Really, my dear, you are a treasure; I haven't tasted such tea since my

poor maid Ellis died. Bella never makes it good, and Miss Lucia always

forgets the cream. Whatever you do you seem to do well, and that is

_such_ a comfort.'

'Let me always do this for you, then. It will be a pleasure, madam.' And

Miss Muir came back to her seat with a faint color in her cheek which

improved her much.

'My brother asked if young Sydney was at home when you left,' said

Edward, for Gerald would not take the trouble to repeat the question.

Miss Muir fixed her eyes on Coventry, and answered with a slight tremor

of the lips, 'No, he left home some weeks ago.'

The young man went back to his cousin, saying, as he threw himself

down beside her, 'I shall not go tomorrow, but wait till the three

days are out.'

'Why?' demanded Lucia.

Lowering his voice he said, with a significant nod toward the governess,

'Because I have a fancy that she is at the bottom of Sydney's mystery.

He's not been himself lately, and now he is gone without a word. I

rather like romances in real life, if they are not too long, or

difficult to read.'

'Do you think her pretty?'

'Far from it, a most uncanny little specimen.'

'Then why fancy Sydney loves her?'

'He is an oddity, and likes sensations and things of that sort.'

'What do you mean, Gerald?'

'Get the Muir to look at you, as she did at me, and you will understand.

Will you have another cup, Juno?'

'Yes, please.' She liked to have him wait upon her, for he did it to no

other woman except his mother.

Before he could slowly rise, Miss Muir glided to them with another cup

on the salver; and, as Lucia took it with a cold nod, the girl said

under her breath, 'I think it honest to tell you that I possess a quick

ear, and cannot help hearing what is said anywhere in the room. What you

say of me is of no consequence, but you may speak of things which you

prefer I should not hear; therefore, allow me to warn you.' And she was

gone again as noiselessly as she came.

'How do you like that?' whispered Coventry, as his cousin sat looking

after the girl, with a disturbed expression.

'What an uncomfortable creature to have in the house! I am very sorry I

urged her coming, for your mother has taken a fancy to her, and it will

be hard to get rid of her,' said Lucia, half angry, half amused.

'Hush, she hears every word you say. I know it by the expression of her

face, for Ned is talking about horses, and she looks as haughty as ever

you did, and that is saying much. Faith, this is getting interesting.'

'Hark, she is speaking; I want to hear,' and Lucia laid her hand on her

cousin's lips. He kissed it, and then idly amused himself with turning

the rings to and fro on the slender fingers.

'I have been in France several years, madam, but my friend died and I

came back to be with Lady Sydney, till--' Muir paused an instant, then

added, slowly, 'till I fell ill. It was a contagious fever, so I went of

my own accord to the hospital, not wishing to endanger her.'

'Very right, but are you sure there is no danger of infection now?'

asked Mrs. Coventry anxiously.

'None, I assure you. I have been well for some time, but did not leave

because I preferred to stay there, than to return to Lady Sydney.'

'No quarrel, I hope? No trouble of any kind?'

'No quarrel, but--well, why not? You have a right to know, and I will

not make a foolish mystery out of a very simple thing. As your family,

only, is present, I may tell the truth. I did not go back on the young

gentleman's account. Please ask no more.'

'Ah, I see. Quite prudent and proper, Miss Muir. I shall never allude to

it again. Thank you for your frankness. Bella, you will be careful not

to mention this to young friends; girls gossip sadly, and it would annoy

Lady Sydney beyond everything to have this talked of.'

'Very neighborly of Lady S. to send the dangerous young lady here,

where there are _two_ young gentlemen to be captivated. I wonder why

she didn't keep Sydney after she had caught him,' murmured Coventry to

his cousin.

'Because she had the utmost contempt for a titled fool.' Miss Muir

dropped the words almost into his ear, as she bent to take her shawl

from the sofa corner.

'How the deuce did she get there?' ejaculated Coventry, looking as if he

had received another sensation. 'She has spirit, though, and upon my

word I pity Sydney, if he did try to dazzle her, for he must have got a

splendid dismissal.'

'Come and play billiards. You promised, and I hold you to your word,'

said Lucia, rising with decision, for Gerald was showing too much

interest in another to suit Miss Beaufort.

'I am, as ever, your most devoted. My mother is a charming woman, but I

find our evening parties slightly dull, when only my own family are

present. Good night, Mamma.' He shook hands with his mother, whose pride

and idol he was, and, with a comprehensive nod to the others, strolled

after his cousin.

'Now they are gone we can be quite cozy, and talk over things, for I

don't mind Ned any more than I do his dogs,' said Bella, settling

herself on her mother's footstool.

'I merely wish to say, Miss Muir, that my daughter has never had a

governess and is sadly backward for a girl of sixteen. I want you to

pass the mornings with her, and get her on as rapidly as possible. In

the afternoon you will walk or drive with her, and in the evening sit

with us here, if you like, or amuse yourself as you please. While in the

country we are very quiet, for I cannot bear much company, and when my

sons want gaiety, they go away for it. Miss Beaufort oversees the

servants, and takes my place as far as possible. I am very delicate and

keep my room till evening, except for an airing at noon. We will try

each other for a month, and I hope we shall get on quite comfortably

together.'

'I shall do my best, madam.'

One would not have believed that the meek, spiritless voice which

uttered these words was the same that had startled Coventry a few

minutes before, nor that the pale, patient face could ever have kindled

with such sudden fire as that which looked over Miss Muir's shoulder

when she answered her young host's speech.

Edward thought within himself, Poor little woman! She has had a hard

life. We will try and make it easier while she is here; and began his

charitable work by suggesting that she might be tired. She acknowledged

she was, and Bella led her away to a bright, cozy room, where with a

pretty little speech and a good-night kiss she left her.

When alone Miss Muir's conduct was decidedly peculiar. Her first act was

to clench her hands and mutter between her teeth, with passionate force,

'I'll not fail again if there is power in a woman's wit and will!' She

stood a moment motionless, with an expression of almost fierce disdain

on her face, then shook her clenched hand as if menacing some unseen

enemy. Next she laughed, and shrugged her shoulders with a true French

shrug, saying low to herself, 'Yes, the last scene _shall_ be better

than the first. _Mon dieu_, how tired and hungry I am!'

Kneeling before the one small trunk which held her worldly possessions,

she opened it, drew out a flask, and mixed a glass of some ardent

cordial, which she seemed to enjoy extremely as she sat on the carpet,

musing, while her quick eyes examined every corner of the room.

'Not bad! It will be a good field for me to work in, and the harder the

task the better I shall like it. _Merci_, old friend. You put heart and

courage into me when nothing else will. Come, the curtain is down, so I

may be myself for a few hours, if actresses ever are themselves.'

Still sitting on the floor she unbound and removed the long abundant

braids from her head, wiped the pink from her face, took out several

pearly teeth, and slipping off her dress appeared herself indeed, a

haggard, worn, and moody woman of thirty at least. The metamorphosis was

wonderful, but the disguise was more in the expression she assumed than

in any art of costume or false adornment. Now she was alone, and her

mobile features settled into their natural expression, weary, hard,

bitter. She had been lovely once, happy, innocent, and tender; but

nothing of all this remained to the gloomy woman who leaned there

brooding over some wrong, or loss, or disappointment which had darkened

all her life. For an hour she sat so, sometimes playing absently with

the scanty locks that hung about her face, sometimes lifting the glass

to her lips as if the fiery draught warmed her cold blood; and once she

half uncovered her breast to eye with a terrible glance the scar of a

newly healed wound. At last she rose and crept to bed, like one worn out

with weariness and mental pain.

_chapter II_

A GOOD BEGINNING

Only the housemaids were astir when Miss Muir left her room next morning

and quietly found her way into the garden. As she walked, apparently

intent upon the flowers, her quick eye scrutinized the fine old house

and its picturesque surroundings.

'Not bad,' she said to herself, adding, as she passed into the adjoining

park, 'but the other may be better, and I will have the best.'

Walking rapidly, she came out at length upon the wide green lawn which

lay before the ancient hall where Sir John Coventry lived in solitary

splendor. A stately old place, rich in oaks, well-kept shrubberies, gay

gardens, sunny terraces, carved gables, spacious rooms, liveried

servants, and every luxury befitting the ancestral home of a rich and

honorable race. Miss Muir's eyes brightened as she looked, her step grew

firmer, her carriage prouder, and a smile broke over her face; the smile

of one well pleased at the prospect of the success of some cherished

hope. Suddenly her whole air changed, she pushed back her hat, clasped

her hands loosely before her, and seemed absorbed in girlish admiration

of the fair scene that could not fail to charm any beauty-loving eye.

The cause of this rapid change soon appeared. A hale, handsome man,

between fifty and sixty, came through the little gate leading to the

park, and, seeing the young stranger, paused to examine her. He had only

time for a glance, however; she seemed conscious of his presence in a

moment, turned with a startled look, uttered an exclamation of surprise,

and looked as if hesitating whether to speak or run away. Gallant Sir

John took off his hat and said, with the old-fashioned courtesy which

became him well, 'I beg your pardon for disturbing you, young lady.

Allow me to atone for it by inviting you to walk where you will, and

gather what flowers you like. I see you love them, so pray make free

with those about you.'

With a charming air of maidenly timidity and artlessness, Miss Muir

replied, 'Oh, thank you, sir! But it is I who should ask pardon for

trespassing. I never should have dared if I had not known that Sir John

was absent. I always wanted to see this fine old place, and ran over the

first thing, to satisfy myself.'

'And _are_ you satisfied?' he asked, with a smile.

'More than satisfied--I'm charmed; for it is the most beautiful spot I

ever saw, and I've seen many famous seats, both at home and abroad,' she

answered enthusiastically.

'The Hall is much flattered, and so would its master be if he heard

you,' began the gentleman, with an odd expression.

'I should not praise it to him--at least, not as freely as I have to

you, sir,' said the girl, with eyes still turned away.

'Why not?' asked her companion, looking much amused.

'I should be afraid. Not that I dread Sir John; but I've heard so many

beautiful and noble things about him, and respect him so highly, that I

should not dare to say much, lest he should see how I admire and--'

'And what, young lady? Finish, if you please.'

'I was going to say, love him. I will say it, for he is an old man, and

one cannot help loving virtue and bravery.'

Miss Muir looked very earnest and pretty as she spoke, standing there

with the sunshine glinting on her yellow hair, delicate face, and

downcast eyes. Sir John was not a vain man, but he found it pleasant to

hear himself commended by this unknown girl, and felt redoubled

curiosity to learn who she was. Too well-bred to ask, or to abash her by

avowing what she seemed unconscious of, he left both discoveries to

chance; and when she turned, as if to retrace her steps, he offered her

the handful of hothouse flowers which he held, saying, with a gallant

bow, 'In Sir John's name let me give you my little nosegay, with thanks

for your good opinion, which, I assure you, is not entirely deserved,

for I know him well.'

Miss Muir looked up quickly, eyed him an instant, then dropped her eyes,

and, coloring deeply, stammered out, 'I did not know--I beg your

pardon--you are too kind, Sir John.'

He laughed like a boy, asking, mischievously, 'Why call me Sir John? How

do you know that I am not the gardener or the butler?'

'I did not see your face before, and no one but yourself would say that

any praise was undeserved,' murmured Miss Muir, still overcome with

girlish confusion.

'Well, well, we will let that pass, and the next time you come we will

be properly introduced. Bella always brings her friends to the Hall, for

I am fond of young people.'

'I am not a friend. I am only Miss Coventry's governess.' And Miss Muir

dropped a meek curtsy. A slight change passed over Sir John's manner.

Few would have perceived it, but Miss Muir felt it at once, and bit her

lips with an angry feeling at her heart. With a curious air of pride,

mingled with respect, she accepted the still offered bouquet, returned

Sir John's parting bow, and tripped away, leaving the old gentleman to

wonder where Mrs. Coventry found such a piquant little governess.

'That is done, and very well for a beginning,' she said to herself as

she approached the house.

In a green paddock close by fed a fine horse, who lifted up his head and

eyed her inquiringly, like one who expected a greeting. Following a

sudden impulse, she entered the paddock and, pulling a handful of

clover, invited the creature to come and eat. This was evidently a new

proceeding on the part of a lady, and the horse careered about as if

bent on frightening the newcomer away.

'I see,' she said aloud, laughing to herself. 'I am not your master, and

you rebel. Nevertheless, I'll conquer you, my fine brute.'

Seating herself in the grass, she began to pull daisies, singing idly

the while, as if unconscious of the spirited prancings of the horse.

Presently he drew nearer, sniffing curiously and eyeing her with

surprise. She took no notice, but plaited the daisies and sang on as if

he was not there. This seemed to pique the petted creature, for, slowly

approaching, he came at length so close that he could smell her little

foot and nibble at her dress. Then she offered the clover, uttering

caressing words and making soothing sounds, till by degrees and with

much coquetting, the horse permitted her to stroke his glossy neck and

smooth his mane.

It was a pretty sight--the slender figure in the grass, the

high-spirited horse bending his proud head to her hand. Edward Coventry,

who had watched the scene, found it impossible to restrain himself any

longer and, leaping the wall, came to join the group, saying, with

mingled admiration and wonder in countenance and voice, 'Good morning,

Miss Muir. If I had not seen your skill and courage proved before my

eyes, I should be alarmed for your safety. Hector is a wild, wayward

beast, and has damaged more than one groom who tried to conquer him.'

'Good morning, Mr. Coventry. Don't tell tales of this noble creature,

who has not deceived my faith in him. Your grooms did not know how to

win his heart, and so subdue his spirit without breaking it.'

Miss Muir rose as she spoke, and stood with her hand on Hector's neck

while he ate the grass which she had gathered in the skirt of her dress.

'You have the secret, and Hector is your subject now, though heretofore

he has rejected all friends but his master. Will you give him his

morning feast? I always bring him bread and play with him before

breakfast.'

'Then you are not jealous?' And she looked up at him with eyes so bright

and beautiful in expression that the young man wondered he had not

observed them before.

'Not I. Pet him as much as you will; it will do him good. He is a

solitary fellow, for he scorns his own kind and lives alone, like his

master,' he added, half to himself.

'Alone, with such a happy home, Mr. Coventry?' And a softly

compassionate glance stole from the bright eyes.

'That was an ungrateful speech, and I retract it for Bella's sake.

Younger sons have no position but such as they can make for themselves,

you know, and I've had no chance yet.'

'Younger sons! I thought--I beg pardon.' And Miss Muir paused, as if

remembering that she had no right to question.

Edward smiled and answered frankly, 'Nay, don't mind me. You thought I

was the heir, perhaps. Whom did you take my brother for last night?'

'For some guest who admired Miss Beaufort. I did not hear his name, nor

observe him enough to discover who he was. I saw only your land mother,

your charming little sister, and--'

She stopped there, with a half-shy, half-grateful look at the young man

which finished the sentence better than any words. He was still a boy,

in spite of his one-and-twenty years, and a little color came into his

brown cheek as the eloquent eyes met his and fell before them.

'Yes, Bella is a capital girl, and one can't help loving her. I know

you'll get her on, for, really, she is the most delightful little dunce.

My mother's ill health and Bella's devotion to her have prevented our

attending to her education before. Next winter, when we go to town, she

is to come out, and must be prepared for that great event, you know,' he

said, choosing a safe subject.

'I shall do my best. And that reminds me that I should report myself to

her, instead of enjoying myself here. When one has been ill and shut up

a long time, the country is so lovely one is apt to forget duty for

pleasure. Please remind me if I am negligent, Mr. Coventry.'

'That name belongs to Gerald. I'm only Mr. Ned here,' he said as they

walked toward the house, while Hector followed to the wall and sent a

sonorous farewell after them.

Bella came running to meet them, and greeted Miss Muir as if she had

made up her mind to like her heartily. 'What a lovely bouquet you have

got! I never can arrange flowers prettily, which vexes me, for Mamma is

so fond of them and cannot go out herself. You have charming taste,' she

said, examining the graceful posy which Miss Muir had much improved by

adding feathery grasses, delicate ferns, and fragrant wild flowers to

Sir John's exotics.

Putting them into Bella's hand, she said, in a winning way, 'Take them

to your mother, then, and ask her if I may have the pleasure of making

her a daily nosegay; for I should find real delight in doing it, if it

would please her.'

'How kind you are! Of course it would please her. I'll take them to her

while the dew is still on them.' And away flew Bella, eager to give both

the flowers and the pretty message to the poor invalid.

Edward stopped to speak to the gardener, and Miss Muir went up the steps

alone. The long hall was lined with portraits, and pacing slowly down it

she examined them with interest. One caught her eye, and, pausing before

it, she scrutinized it carefully. A young, beautiful, but very haughty

female face. Miss Muir suspected at once who it was, and gave a decided

nod, as if she saw and caught at some unexpected chance. A soft rustle

behind her made her look around, and, seeing Lucia, she bowed, half

turned, as if for another glance at the picture, and said, as if

involuntarily, 'How beautiful it is! May I ask if it is an ancestor,

Miss Beaufort?'

'It is the likeness of my mother' was the reply, given with a softened

voice and eyes that looked up tenderly.

'Ah, I might have known, from the resemblance, but I scarcely saw you

last night. Excuse my freedom, but Lady Sydney treated me as a friend,

and I forget my position. Allow me.'

As she spoke, Miss Muir stooped to return the handkerchief which had

fallen from Lucia's hand, and did so with a humble mien which touched

the other's heart; for, though a proud, it was also a very generous one.

'Thank you. Are you better, this morning?' she said, graciously. And

having received an affirmative reply, she added, as she walked on, 'I

will show you to the breakfast room, as Bella is not here. It is a very

informal meal with us, for my aunt is never down and my cousins are very

irregular in their hours. You can always have yours when you like,

without waiting for us if you are an early riser.'

Bella and Edward appeared before the others were seated, and Miss Muir

quietly ate her breakfast, feeling well satisfied with her hour's

work. Ned recounted her exploit with Hector, Bella delivered her

mother's thanks for the flowers, and Lucia more than once recalled,

with pardonable vanity, that the governess had compared her to her

lovely mother, expressing by a look as much admiration for the living

likeness as for the painted one. All kindly did their best to make the

pale girl feel at home, and their cordial manner seemed to warm and

draw her out; for soon she put off her sad, meek air and entertained

them with gay anecdotes of her life in Paris, her travels in Russia

when governess in Prince Jermadoff's family, and all manner of witty

stories that kept them interested and merry long after the meal was

over. In the middle of an absorbing adventure, Coventry came in,

nodded lazily, lifted his brows, as if surprised at seeing the

governess there, and began his breakfast as if the ennui of another

day had already taken possession of him. Miss Muir stopped short, and

no entreaties could induce her to go on.

'Another time I will finish it, if you like. Now Miss Bella and I should

be at our books.' And she left the room, followed by her pupil, taking

no notice of the young master of the house, beyond a graceful bow in

answer to his careless nod.

'Merciful creature! she goes when I come, and does not make life

unendurable by moping about before my eyes. Does she belong to the

moral, the melancholy, the romantic, or the dashing class, Ned?' said

Gerald, lounging over his coffee as he did over everything he attempted.

'To none of them; she is a capital little woman. I wish you had seen her

tame Hector this morning.' And Edward repeated his story.

'Not a bad move on her part,' said Coventry in reply. 'She must be an

observing as well as an energetic young person, to discover your chief

weakness and attack it so soon. First tame the horse, and then the

master. It will be amusing to watch the game, only I shall be under the

painful necessity of checkmating you both, if it gets serious.'

'You needn't exert yourself, old fellow, on my account. If I was not

above thinking ill of an inoffensive girl, I should say you were the

prize best worth winning, and advise you to take care of your own heart,

if you've got one, which I rather doubt.'

'I often doubt it, myself; but I fancy the little Scotchwoman will not

be able to satisfy either of us upon that point. How does your highness

like her?' asked Coventry of his cousin, who sat near him.

'Better than I thought I should. She is well-bred, unassuming, and very

entertaining when she likes. She has told us some of the wittiest

stories I've heard for a long time. Didn't our laughter wake you?'

replied Lucia.

'Yes. Now atone for it by amusing me with a repetition of these

witty tales.'

'That is impossible; her accent and manner are half the charm,' said

Ned. 'I wish you had kept away ten minutes longer, for your appearance

spoilt the best story of all.'

'Why didn't she go on?' asked Coventry, with a ray of curiosity.

'You forget that she overheard us last night, and must feel that you

consider her a bore. She has pride, and no woman forgets speeches like

those you made,' answered Lucia.

'Or forgives them, either, I believe. Well, I must be resigned to

languish under her displeasure then. On Sydney's account I take a slight

interest in her; not that I expect to learn anything from her, for a

woman with a mouth like that never confides or confesses anything. But I

have a fancy to see what captivated him; for captivated he was, beyond a

doubt, and by no lady whom he met in society. Did you ever hear anything

of it, Ned?' asked Gerald.

'I'm not fond of scandal or gossip, and never listen to either.' With

which remark Edward left the room.

Lucia was called out by the housekeeper a moment after, and Coventry

left to the society most wearisome to him, namely his own. As he

entered, he had caught a part of the story which Miss Muir had been

telling, and it had excited his curiosity so much that he found himself

wondering what the end could be and wishing that he might hear it.

What the deuce did she run away for, when I came in? he thought. If she

_is_ amusing, she must make herself useful; for it's intensely dull, I

own, here, in spite of Lucia. Hey, what's that?

It was a rich, sweet voice, singing a brilliant Italian air, and singing

it with an expression that made the music doubly delicious. Stepping out

of the French window, Coventry strolled along the sunny terrace,

enjoying the song with the relish of a connoisseur. Others followed, and

still he walked and listened, forgetful of weariness or tune. As one

exquisite air ended, he involuntarily applauded. Miss Muir's face

appeared for an instant, then vanished, and no more music followed,

though Coventry lingered, hoping to hear the voice again. For music was

the one thing of which he never wearied, and neither Lucia nor Bella

possessed skill enough to charm him. For an hour he loitered on the

terrace or the lawn, basking in the sunshine, too indolent to seek

occupation or society. At length Bella came out, hat in hand, and nearly

stumbled over her brother, who lay on the grass.

'You lazy man, have you been dawdling here all this time?' she said,

looking down at him.

'No, I've been very busy. Come and tell me how you've got on with the

little dragon.'

'Can't stop. She bade me take a run after my French, so that I might be

ready for my drawing, and so I must.'

'It's too warm to run. Sit down and amuse your deserted brother, who has

had no society but bees and lizards for an hour.'

He drew her down as he spoke, and Bella obeyed; for, in spite of his

indolence, he was one to whom all submitted without dreaming of refusal.

'What have you been doing? Muddling your poor little brains with all

manner of elegant rubbish?'

'No, I've been enjoying myself immensely. Jean is _so_ interesting, so

kind and clever. She didn't bore me with stupid grammar, but just talked

to me in such pretty French that I got on capitally, and like it as I

never expected to, after Lucia's dull way of teaching it.'

'What did you talk about?'

'Oh, all manner of things. She asked questions, and I answered, and she

corrected me.'

'Questions about our affairs, I suppose?'

'Not one. She don't care two sous for us or our affairs. I thought she

might like to know what sort of people we were, so I told her about

Papa's sudden death, Uncle John, and you, and Ned; but in the midst of

it she said, in her quiet way, 'You are getting too confidential, my

dear. It is not best to talk too freely of one's affairs to strangers.

Let us speak of something else.'

'What were you talking of when she said that, Bell?'

'You.'

'Ah, then no wonder she was bored.'

'She was tired of my chatter, and didn't hear half I said; for she was

busy sketching something for me to copy, and thinking of something more

interesting than the Coventrys.'

'How do you know?'

'By the expression of her face. Did you like her music, Gerald?'

'Yes. Was she angry when I clapped?'

'She looked surprised, then rather proud, and shut the piano at once,

though I begged her to go on. Isn't Jean a pretty name?'

'Not bad; but why don't you call her Miss Muir?'

'She begged me not. She hates it, and loves to be called Jean, alone.

I've imagined such a nice little romance about her, and someday I shall

tell her, for I'm sure she has had a love trouble.'

'Don't get such nonsense into your head, but follow Miss Muir's

well-bred example and don't be curious about other people's affairs. Ask

her to sing tonight; it amuses me.'

'She won't come down, I think. We've planned to read and work in my

boudoir, which is to be our study now. Mamma will stay in her room, so

you and Lucia can have the drawing room all to yourselves.'

'Thank you. What will Ned do?'

'He will amuse Mamma, he says. Dear old Ned! I wish you'd stir about and

get him his commission. He is so impatient to be doing something and yet

so proud he won't ask again, after you have neglected it so many times

and refused Uncle's help.'

'I'll attend to it very soon; don't worry me, child. He will do very

well for a time, quietly here with us.'

'You always say that, yet you know he chafes and is unhappy at being

dependent on you. Mamma and I don't mind; but he is a man, and it frets

him. He said he'd take matters into his own hands soon, and then you may

be sorry you were so slow in helping him.'

'Miss Muir is looking out of the window. You'd better go and take your

run, else she will scold.'

'Not she. I'm not a bit afraid of her, she's so gentle and sweet. I'm

fond of her already. You'll get as brown as Ned, lying here in the

sun. By the way, Miss Muir agrees with me in thinking him handsomer

than you.'

'I admire her taste and quite agree with her.'

'She said he was manly, and that was more attractive than beauty in a

man. She does express things so nicely. Now I'm off.' And away danced

Bella, humming the burden of Miss Muir's sweetest song.

'Energy is more attractive than beauty in a man.' She is right, but how

the deuce _can_ a man be energetic, with nothing to expend his energies

upon?' mused Coventry, with his hat over his eyes.

A few moments later, the sweep of a dress caught his ear. Without

stirring, a sidelong glance showed him Miss Muir coming across the

terrace, as if to join Bella. Two stone steps led down to the lawn. He

lay near them, and Miss Muir did not see him till close upon him. She

started and slipped on the last step, recovered herself, and glided on,

with a glance of unmistakable contempt as she passed the recumbent

figure of the apparent sleeper. Several things in Bella's report had

nettled him, but this look made him angry, though he would not own it,

even to himself.

'Gerald, come here, quick!' presently called Bella, from the rustic seat

where she stood beside her governess, who sat with her hand over her

face as if in pain.

Gathering himself up, Coventry slowly obeyed, but involuntarily

quickened his pace as he heard Miss Muir say, 'Don't call him; _he_ can

do nothing'; for the emphasis on the word 'he' was very significant.

'What is it, Bella?' he asked, looking rather wider awake than usual.

'You startled Miss Muir and made her turn her ankle. Now help her to the

house, for she is in great pain; and don't lie there anymore to frighten

people like a snake in the grass,' said his sister petulantly.

'I beg your pardon. Will you allow me?' And Coventry offered his arm.

Miss Muir looked up with the expression which annoyed him and answered

coldly, 'Thank you, Miss Bella will do as well.'

'Permit me to doubt that.' And with a gesture too decided to be

resisted, Coventry drew her arm through his and led her into the house.

She submitted quietly, said the pain would soon be over, and when

settled on the couch in Bella's room dismissed him with the briefest

thanks. Considering the unwonted exertion he had made, he thought she

might have been a little more grateful, and went away to Lucia, who

always brightened when he came.

No more was seen of Miss Muir till teatime; for now, while the family

were in retirement, they dined early and saw no company. The governess

had excused herself at dinner, but came down in the evening a little

paler than usual and with a slight limp in her gait. Sir John was there,

talking with his nephew, and they merely acknowledged her presence by

the sort of bow which gentlemen bestow on governesses. As she slowly

Do They Get Paid To Be On The Masked Singer

made her way to her place behind the urn, Coventry said to his brother,

'Take her a footstool, and ask her how she is, Ned.' Then, as if

necessary to account for his politeness to his uncle, he explained how

he was the cause of the accident.

'Yes, yes. I understand. Rather a nice little person, I fancy. Not

exactly a beauty, but accomplished and well-bred, which is better for

one of her class.'

'Some tea, Sir John?' said a soft voice at his elbow, and there was Miss

Muir, offering cups to the gentlemen.

'Thank you, thank you,' said Sir John, sincerely hoping she had

overheard him.

As Coventry took his, he said graciously, 'You are very forgiving, Miss

Muir, to wait upon me, after I have caused you so much pain.'

'It is my duty, sir' was her reply, in a tone which plainly said, 'but

not my pleasure.' And she returned to her place, to smile, and chat, and

be charming, with Bella and her brother.

Lucia, hovering near her uncle and Gerald, kept them to herself, but

was disturbed to find that their eyes often wandered to the cheerful

group about the table, and that their attention seemed distracted by

the frequent bursts of laughter and fragments of animated conversation

which reached them. In the midst of an account of a tragic affair which

she endeavored to make as interesting and pathetic as possible, Sir

John burst into a hearty laugh, which betrayed that he had been

listening to a livelier story than her own. Much annoyed, she said

hastily, 'I knew it would be so! Bella has no idea of the proper manner

in which to treat a governess. She and Ned will forget the difference

of rank and spoil that person for her work. She is inclined to be

presumptuous already, and if my aunt won't trouble herself to give Miss

Muir a hint in time, I shall.'

'Wait until she has finished that story, I beg of you,' said Coventry,

for Sir John was already off.

'If you find that nonsense so entertaining, why don't you follow Uncle's

example? I don't need you.'

'Thank you. I will.' And Lucia was deserted.

But Miss Muir had ended and, beckoning to Bella, left the room, as if

quite unconscious of the honor conferred upon her or the dullness she

left behind her. Ned went up to his mother, Gerald returned to make his

peace with Lucia, and, bidding them good-night, Sir John turned

homeward. Strolling along the terrace, he came to the lighted window of

Bella's study, and wishing to say a word to her, he half pushed aside

the curtain and looked in. A pleasant little scene. Bella working

busily, and near her in a low chair, with the light falling on her fair

hair and delicate profile, sat Miss Muir reading aloud. 'Novels!'

thought Sir John, and smiled at them for a pair of romantic girls. But

pausing to listen a moment before he spoke, he found it was no novel,

but history, read with a fluency which made every fact interesting,

every sketch of character memorable, by the dramatic effect given to it.

Sir John was fond of history, and failing eyesight often curtailed his

favorite amusement. He had tried readers, but none suited him, and he

had given up the plan. Now as he listened, he thought how pleasantly the

smoothly flowing voice would wile away his evenings, and he envied Bella

her new acquisition.

A bell rang, and Bella sprang up, saying, 'Wait for me a minute. I must

run to Mamma, and then we will go on with this charming prince.'

Away she went, and Sir John was about to retire as quietly as he came,

when Miss Muir's peculiar behavior arrested him for an instant. Dropping

the book, she threw her arms across the table, laid her head down upon

them, and broke into a passion of tears, like one who could bear

restraint no longer. Shocked and amazed, Sir John stole away; but all

that night the kindhearted gentleman puzzled his brains with conjectures

about his niece's interesting young governess, quite unconscious that

she intended he should do so.

_chapter III_

PASSION AND PIQUE

For several weeks the most monotonous tranquillity seemed to reign at

Coventry House, and yet, unseen, unsuspected, a storm was gathering.

The arrival of Miss Muir seemed to produce a change in everyone, though

no one could have explained how or why. Nothing could be more

unobtrusive and retiring than her manners. She was devoted to Bella,

who soon adored her, and was only happy when in her society. She

ministered in many ways to Mrs. Coventry's comfort, and that lady

declared there never was such a nurse. She amused, interested and won

Edward with her wit and womanly sympathy. She made Lucia respect and

envy her for her accomplishments, and piqued indolent Gerald by her

persistent avoidance of him, while Sir John was charmed with her

respectful deference and the graceful little attentions she paid him in

a frank and artless way, very winning to the lonely old man. The very

servants liked her; and instead of being, what most governesses are, a

forlorn creature hovering between superiors and inferiors, Jean Muir

was the life of the house, and the friend of all but two.

Lucia disliked her, and Coventry distrusted her; neither could exactly

say why, and neither owned the feeling, even to themselves. Both watched

her covertly yet found no shortcoming anywhere. Meek, modest, faithful,

and invariably sweet-tempered--they could complain of nothing and

wondered at their own doubts, though they could not banish them.

It soon came to pass that the family was divided, or rather that two

members were left very much to themselves. Pleading timidity, Jean Muir

kept much in Bella's study and soon made it such a pleasant little nook

that Ned and his mother, and often Sir John, came in to enjoy the music,

reading, or cheerful chat which made the evenings so gay. Lucia at first

was only too glad to have her cousin to herself, and he too lazy to care

what went on about him. But presently he wearied of her society, for she

was not a brilliant girl, and possessed few of those winning arts which

charm a man and steal into his heart. Rumors of the merry-makings that

went on reached him and made him curious to share them; echoes of fine

music went sounding through the house, as he lounged about the empty

drawing room; and peals of laughter reached him while listening to

Lucia's grave discourse.

She soon discovered that her society had lost its charm, and the more

eagerly she tried to please him, the more signally she failed. Before

long Coventry fell into a habit of strolling out upon the terrace of an

evening, and amusing himself by passing and repassing the window of

Bella's room, catching glimpses of what was going on and reporting the

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result of his observations to Lucia, who was too proud to ask admission

to the happy circle or to seem to desire it.

'I shall go to London tomorrow, Lucia,' Gerald said one evening, as he

came back from what he called 'a survey,' looking very much annoyed.

'To London?' exclaimed his cousin, surprised.

'Yes, I must bestir myself and get Ned his commission, or it will be all

over with him.'

'How do you mean?'

'He is falling in love as fast as it is possible for a boy to do it.

That girl has bewitched him, and he will make a fool of himself very

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soon, unless I put a stop to it.'

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