"Don't be foolish, Margaret," said Miss Phipp sharply. "They must not begin by making fun of their lessons."
"Oh, but we shouldn't think of doing that," said Joan.
"They're far too serious, and we have been taught not to make fun of serious things," said Nancy.
Miss Dexter laughed again. "What do you know of mathematics?" she asked.
"Nancy is not good at them," replied Joan. "She got as far as the asses' bridge in Euclid, with the starling, our last governess, and then she struck, as you might expect. Her strong point is literature. She writes poems that bring tears to the eyes."
"Joan's weak point is history," said Nancy. "She thought Henry the Eighth was a widower when he married Anne Boleyn, and Starling made her learn all his wives in order before she went to bed."
"That will do, girls," said Miss Phipp firmly. "And if Miss Starling was the name of your last governess, please call her so."
The ensuing silence was broken by a smothered giggle from Joan, which Nancy covered up by asking in a rather shaky voice of Miss Dexter whether she and Miss Phipp had known each other before.
"Yes," said Miss Dexter, "we were at school together—oh, years ago—and have never seen each other since, until we met on the platform. Funny, wasn't it? I say, is there a ghost at Kencote?"
"Oh, no, it isn't old enough," replied Joan. "But there's one at the dower-house—an old man in one boot who goes about looking for the other one."