The mistress took the envelope and examined it. It was addressed to Miss V. Chalmers, Haversedge Manor, near Byfield. She looked into Raymonde’s eyes as if she would read her very soul. Her pupil bore the scrutiny without flinching.
“It is a most unwarrantable thing to ask, but I will do it,” replied Miss Gibbs. “I hope my confidence in you will be justified.”
At 9.30 on the following morning a trap arrived at the Grange to convey the Reverend T. W. Beasley and his Gladstone bag to the railway station. A row of heads peeping from behind the curtains in the upper windows watched him depart, and exhibited manifestations of intense satisfaction.
“There! He’s actually gone!”
“Only hope he won’t miss his train and come back!”
“No, no! He’s in heaps of time, thank goodness!”
“Glad he isn’t staying the week-end!”
“He’s got to preach somewhere in aid of something on Sunday.”
“May he never come here again, that’s all!”
Perhaps in secret Miss Beasley was equally relieved. She had passed a strenuous week, and had possibly arrived at the conclusion that she was, on the whole, capable of arranging her own school to 282 the satisfaction of herself and the parents of her pupils. She considered that she understood girls better than a bachelor university don, however great his literary attainments, could do. The experiment had not been altogether a success, and need not be repeated. She sighed as she waved a last good-bye and turned into the house.