Part 24 (2/2)
”She shall have it,” said the elder Miss Henderson; and a look of distinct pleasure crossed her face. ”I have had refractory girls before now,” she said, ”and I may add with confidence, Lady Frances, that I have always broken them in. I do not expect to fail in the case of Miss Wynford.”
”Firm discipline is essential,” replied Lady Frances. ”I told Miss Sinclair so, and she agreed with me. I do not exactly know what her method was, nor how she managed, but the child seemed happy, she learnt her lessons correctly, and, in short, she has improved. I trust the improvement will continue under your management.”
Here the good lady, after adding a few more words with regard to hours, etc., took her leave. The girls were to go to Chepstow House as day-pupils, and the work of their education at that distinguished school was to begin on the following morning.
Evelyn was rather pleased than otherwise when she heard that she was to be sent to school. She had cried and flung her arms round Miss Sinclair's neck when that lady was taking leave of her. Audrey, on the contrary, had scarcely spoken; her face looked a little whiter than usual, and her eyes a little darker. She took the governess's hand and wrung it, and as she bent forward to kiss her again on the cheek, Miss Sinclair kissed her and whispered something to her. But it was poor Evelyn who cried. The carriage took the governess away, and the girls looked at each other.
”I did not know you could be so stony-hearted,” said Evelyn. She took out her handkerchief as she spoke and mopped her eyes. ”Oh dear!” she added, ”I am quite broken-hearted without her. I am _such_ an affectionate girl.”
”We had better prepare for school,” said Audrey. ”We are to go there to-morrow morning, remember.”
”Yes,” answered Evelyn, her eyes brightening; ”and do you know, although I am terribly sorry to part with dear Miss Sinclair, I am glad about school. Mothery always wished me to go; she said that talents like mine could never find a proper vent except in school-life. I wonder what sort of girls there are at Chepstow House?”
”I don't know anything about it,” said Audrey.
”Are you sorry to go, Audrey?”
”Yes-rather. I have never been to school.”
”How funny it will be to see you looking shy and awkward! Will you be shy and awkward?”
”I don't think so. I hope not.”
”It would be fun to see it, all the same,” said Evelyn. ”But there, I am going for a race; my legs are quite stiff for want of running. I used to run such a lot in Tasmania on the ranch! Often and often I ran a whole mile without stopping. Good-by for the present. I suppose I may do what I like to-day.”
Evelyn rushed off into the grounds. She was running at full speed through the shrubbery on her way to a big field, which was known as the ten-acre field, on the other side of the turnstile, when she came full tilt against her uncle. He stopped, took her hand, and looked kindly at her.
”Do you know, Uncle Edward,” she said, ”that I am going to school to-morrow?”
”So I hear, my dear little girl; and I hope you will be happy there.”
Evelyn made no reply. Her eyes sparkled. After a time she said slowly:
”I am glad; mother wished me to go.”
”You love your mother's memory very much, do you not, Eve?”
”Yes,” she said; and tears came into her big, strange-looking eyes. ”I love her just as much as if she were alive,” she continued-”better, I think. Whenever I am sad she seems near to me.”
”You would do anything to please her, would you not, Eve?”
”Yes,” answered the child.
”Well, I wish to say something to you. You had a great fight when you came here, but I think to a certain extent you have conquered. Our ways were not your ways-everything was strange-and at first, my dear little girl, you rebelled, and were not very happy.”
”I was miserable-miserable!”
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