"Dear Miss! don't look sad; think of the difference you have wrought. Oh, do not cry," she went on passionately, for the mild blue eyes were filling with tears. "Come, we will talk of his return, full of noble resolutions of self-sacrifice to find--oh dear, dear, Miss! I am so happy, so dreadfully happy!" As she buried her face in the gingham dress her voice sank to a murmur of pure content. But some unkind person had poisoned Julia's peace with remarks of the mixing of unknown chemicals. After all, what did she know of this absent husband, save that dear Mrs. Cranston had met him at a conversazione?
"I suppose the Meer is really an enlightened man?" she asked dubiously.
The gingham dress gave up a scared face. "Dear Miss! why, he is a barrister-at-law!"
Her teacher coughed. "But are you sure, dear, that he wanted you to learn?"
"Not everything; because he did not think I could; but he spoke of many things. I have learnt all,--except--"
"Except what?"
Feroza hesitated. "I was not sure,--Inaiyut said he would teach it, but he died-- 'Tis only a game called whist."
"Whist!"
"Do I not say it right? W-h-i-s-t--wist. Oh, Miss! is it a wicked game? Is it not fit? Ought I not to learn it?"
The fire of questions reduced Julia Smith's confusion to simple tears. "I don't know," she moaned, "that is the worst! I thought it was the finger of Providence, and--ah, Feroza! If I have done you harm!"