that she remained silent and passive, not paying the smallest fraction of attention to her guests. As she stood near one of the windows of the drawing-room, certain words, spoken in her vicinity, at length forced themselves on her notice: words that awoke her with a start to the reality of the present.
“Her name’s Beauchamp. My mother wrote to one of the governess-agencies over here, I believe, and they sent her out to us in Canada.”
Jane turned to look at the speaker. He was a stranger, a very young man, brought that evening to the house by some friends, and introduced. His name, Vaughan, had not struck upon any chord of Jane’s memory at the time; but it did now, in connection with the name of Beauchamp. Could he indeed be a member of that family in Canada to whom the Miss Beauchamp had gone out?
“And she is an efficient governess?” went on one of the voices. It was a lady speaking now.
“Very much so, indeed,” replied Mr. Vaughan. “I have heard my mother say she does not know what she should do without Miss Beauchamp.”
All her pulses throbbing with expectant hope, Jane moved up and laid her finger on Mr. Vaughan’s arm.
“Are you from Canada?”
“From Lower Canada,” he replied, struck with something of suppressed eagerness in her tone. “My father, Colonel Vaughan, was ordered there some years ago with his regiment, and he took his family with him. Liking the place, we have remained there, and———”
“You live near to Montreal?” interrupted Jane, too anxious to allow him to continue.
“We live at Montreal.”
“I heard you speak of a Miss Beauchamp: a governess, if I understood you arightly?”
“Yes, I was speaking of Miss Beauchamp. She is my sisters’ governess. She came out to us from England.”
“How long ago?”
“How long ago?—let me see,” he deliberated. “I don’t think she has been with us much more than a twelvemonth yet.”
It was surely the same. Jane without ceremony placed her arm within the young man’s, and led him to a less-crowded room.
“I am interested in a Miss Beauchamp, Mr. Vaughan,” she said, as they paced it together.
“A lady of that name, whom I know, went abroad as governess about a year ago. At least, we suppose she went abroad, though we don’t know with certainty where. I am very anxious to find her. I think the Miss Beauchamp you speak of may be the same.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” returned the young gentleman. “This one’s uncommonly nice-looking, Lady Jane.”
“So was she. I should tell you that we have been making inquiries, and had learnt that a Miss Beauchamp went to Montreal in Canada about twelvemonths ago. That lady no doubt is the one in your house: it may be the one we are wishing to find. We have already sent out letters to ascertain, and are expecting their answers every day. How long have you been in England?”
“Not a fortnight yet. I asked Miss Beauchamp if I could call on any of her friends in England with news of her; but she said she had none that she cared to send to.”
“It can be no other than Clarice!” murmured Jane in her inmost heart. “I am sure it must be the same,” she said aloud. “Can you describe her to me Mr. Vaughan?”
“I can almost show her to you if I can catch sight of a young lady I was dancing with just now,” he replied. “I kept thinking how like she was to Miss Beauchamp.”
“A pretty little girl in a white crape frock and a white wreath in her hair,” said Jane, eagerly, remembering how great a resemblance Lucy bore to Clarice.
“I—no, I don’t think she wore a wreath,” returned Mr. Vaughan. “And she was not little. She—there she is! there she is!” he broke off in quick excitement. “That’s the one; the lady in the blue dress, with some gold stuff in her hair. You can’t think how much she is like Miss Beauchamp.”
Jane’s spirit turned faint. It was another disappointment. The young lady he pointed to was a Miss Munro, a very tall girl, with a remarkably light complexion and light-blue eyes. No imagination, however suggestive, could have traced the slightest resemblance between that young lady and Clarice Chesney.
"She!" exclaimed Jane. Has Miss Beauchamp—your Miss Beauchamp—a complexion light as that? Has she blue eyes?”
“Yes. Miss Beauchamp is one of the fairest girls I ever saw. Her hair is light flaxen, very silky-looking, and she wears it in curls. It’s just like the hair you see upon fair-complexioned dolls.”
“It is not the same,” said Jane, battling with her disappointment as she best might. “The Miss Beauchamp I speak of has large soft brown eyes and brown hair. She is about as tall as I am.”
“Then that sets the question at rest, Lady Jane,” returned the young man, alluding to the eyes and hair. “And our Miss Beauchamp is very tall. As tall as that lady standing there.”
