“Just eighteen. She has put up her hair to-day.”
“Oh, poor child, she need not have done that.”
“She is a born teacher. She used to hold little classes amongst her schoolfellows when she was only eight years old.”
Miriam turned sharply to her mother. She was sitting with her tired look—bright eyes, and moist flushed face. How had she heard about the little classes? Had there been little classes? She could not remember them.
“She speaks French like a Parisienne.”
That was that silly remark made by the woman in the train coming home from Hanover.
“Eh—we thought—it was in Germany she was——”
“Yes, but I learned more French.”
The sisters smiled provisionally.
“She shared a room with the mademoiselle.”