Christina meanwhile was awaiting her governess' arrival in fear and trembling.
She sat in the nursery in her little rocking-chair by the fire, conjuring up visions of stern, spectacled, grey-haired women. She longed to fly to some one for comfort, but she felt that her stepmother would laugh at her, and was not sure about her father. She looked up at her paper on the wall:
"Fear dwells not here."
Then she said over her text.
And then she began wondering where the boys were, and whether they had really gone to the station to meet her governess.
She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not hear the door open until her stepmother's brisk voice made her start from her chair in trembling confusion.
"Here is your pupil, Miss Loder. She looks scared to death at the sight of us! Her nurse has ruined her by coddling. I want her turned into a healthy little romp, do you think you can do it?"
"I can try."
Miss Loder came forward and took Christina's small, cold hands in hers.
"You mustn't be frightened of me, dear. Why, I never expected to see such a tiny fragile mite. I daresay you have been picturing what I should be; shall I tell you what I thought you would be like?"