Publisher's Synopsis
r yourself a remarkably lucky girl?" The governess lifted her head from its stooping attitude, and stared wonderingly at her employer, shaking back a shower of curls. They were the most wonderful curls in the world--soft and feathery, always floating away from her face, and making a pale halo round her head when the sunlight shone through them. "What do you mean, my dear Mrs. Dawson?" she asked, dipping her camel's-hair brush into the wet aquamarine upon the palette, and poising it carefully before putting in the delicate streak of purple which was to brighten the horizon in her pupil's sketch. "Why, I mean, my dear, that it only rests with yourself to become Lady Audley, and the mistress of Audley Court." Lucy Graham dropped the brush upon the picture, and flushed scarlet to the roots of her fair hair; and then grew pale again, far paler than Mrs. Dawson had ever seen her before. "My dear, don't agitate yourself," said the surgeon's wife, soothingly; "you know that nobody asks you to marry Sir
