They found Arabella Corryville sitting primly in her place. Her small, thin hands were clasped upon her desk, and she looked at the pupils as they filed in, peeping first over her glasses, and then through them, as if she were hunting for little faults which she really hoped to find.
Aunt Charlotte had told her that on this, her first day of school, she might listen to the recitations, and on the next day come with her lessons prepared, and then recite with the class.
She sat very still, only moving her round eyes to watch the pupils, and as she did not smile, one could not guess if she were pleased with the school or not.
The little girls busied themselves with their books, but Reginald kept his blue eyes fixed upon Arabella, as if he could think of nothing else.
At first she seemed not to notice him, but after a time she moved restlessly on her seat, and wriggled about in a way that delighted the small boy.
Arabella was not used to being stared at. She always stared boldly at other people, but here was some one who looked at her without so much as blinking. She glanced at the clock, and then, as if just remembering something, took a small bottle from her pocket, shook some pills into her hand, swallowed them, and turned to see if Reginald were looking. He was, and Arabella was provoked.
“What you staring at?” she whispered rudely.
“You!” he whispered, not a bit abashed.
“Well, you just needn't,” said Arabella.
“I know I needn't,” replied the small boy, “but I like to.”