Lydia was much too tactful to point out that it was still ten minutes before her bedtime, understanding perfectly that the indiscreetness of Mr. Monteagle Almond’s conversation was responsible for her accelerated departure.
She had learnt that she was really going to school, and she was happy.
Aunt Beryl gradually became reconciled to the loss of her pupil, and presently began to show signs of pride in Lydia’s advancement.
Once or twice Lydia heard her talking to Mrs. Jackson in the rapid undertones always adopted by Aunt Beryl and Aunt Evelyn with their friends.
“Quite a backward child, when she came to us last year. Between ourselves, my sister-in-law never took much trouble.... I was quite against sending her to Miss Glover’s at first—you know, I thought she’d be so behind in everything. So she was, too, but the way that child has picked up! You really wouldn’t believe it—I’m sure half the sums in her book I couldn’t do myself. Never was good at figures.”
Lydia was very proud of her faculty for arithmetic. She thought very little of being first in her class for English composition, and none of the other girls thought much of it either, but they all envied her when the weekly announcement came, as it frequently did:
“Problem No. 15. No one got that right except Lydia Raymond. Stand up, Lydia Raymond, and show the class the working of No. 15 on the black-board. ‘If a train left Glasgow at 8.45 a.m. on Wednesday, travelling at the rate of 60 miles an hour——’”
Lydia enjoyed those problems, worked by herself on the black-board in full view of half-a-dozen befogged, pencil-chewing seniors.
But for her French, Lydia would have found herself more highly placed than she was in the school.
Monday and Thursday afternoons.