The messenger delivered his commission very simply, as if it were a mere matter of course.
"Did Mr. Moore tell you to say that?"
"Certainly; why not? And now, do come, and let us once more be as we were at Sympson Grove. We used to have pleasant school-hours in those days."
Miss Keeldar perhaps thought that circumstances were changed since then; however, she made no remark, but after a little reflection quietly followed Henry.
Entering the schoolroom, she inclined her head with a decent obeisance, as had been her wont in former times. She removed her bonnet, and hung it up beside Henry's cap. Louis Moore sat at his desk, turning the leaves of a book, open before him, and marking passages with his pencil. He just moved, in acknowledgment of her curtsy, but did not rise.
"You proposed to read to me a few nights ago," said he. "I could not hear you then. My attention is now at your service. A little renewed practice in French may not be unprofitable. Your accent, I have observed, begins to rust."
"What book shall I take?"
"Here are the posthumous works of St. Pierre. Read a few pages of the 'Fragments de l'Amazone.'"
She accepted the chair which he had placed in readiness near his own; the volume lay on his desk—there was but one between them; her sweeping curls dropped so low as to hide the page from him.
"Put back your hair," he said.