Ursula Bourne, it seemed, was one of a family of seven—impoverished Irish

gentlefolk. On the death of her father, most of the girls were cast out into the

world to earn their own living. Ursula’s eldest sister was married to Captain

Folliott. It was she whom I had seen that Sunday, and the cause of her

embarrassment was clear enough now.

 

Determined to earn her living and not attracted to the idea of being a nursery

governess—the one profession open to an untrained girl, Ursula preferred the job

of parlormaid. She scorned to label herself a “lady parlormaid.” She would be

the real thing, her reference being supplied by her sister. At Fernly, despite

an aloofness which, as has been seen, caused some comment, she was a success at

her job—quick, competent, and thorough.

 

“I enjoyed the work,” she explained. “And I had plenty of time to myself.”

 

And then came her meeting with Ralph Paton, and the love affair which culminated

in a secret marriage. Ralph had persuaded her into that, somewhat against her

will. He had declared that his stepfather would not hear of his marrying a

penniless girl. Better to be married secretly, and break the news to him at some

later and more favorable minute.

 

And so the deed was done, and Ursula Bourne became Ursula Paton.

 

Ralph had declared that he meant to pay off his debts, find a job, and then,