“It is very like Mr. Henley’s,” said Eleanor warmly. “Lucy has taken great pains, I’m sure. It’s quite as good as the copy, I think.”
“But what do you think of it?” said Madame impatiently; she was too quick-witted to be easily “put off.” “Is it not beautiful?”
“It is very smart, very gay,” said Eleanor, who began to lose her temper. “All Mr. Henley’s sketches are gay. The thatch on the house reminds me of the ‘ends’ of Berlin wool that are kept, after a big piece of work, for kettle-holders. The yellow tree and the blue tree are very pretty: there always is a yellow tree and a blue tree in Mr. Henley’s sketches. I don’t know what kind of trees they are. I never do. The trunks are pink, but that doesn’t help one, for the markings on them are always the same.”
Eleanor’s French was quite good enough to give this speech its full weight, as Madame’s kindling eyes testified. She flung the drawing from her, and was bursting forth into reply, when, by good luck, Miss Mulberry called for her so impatiently that she was obliged to leave the room.
I had been repeating a lesson to Miss Ellen Mulberry, who lay on a couch near the window, but we had both paused involuntarily to listen to Eleanor and Madame.
Miss Ellen was very good. She was also very gentle, and timid to nervousness. But from her couch she saw a good deal of the daily life of the school, and often understood matters better than those who were in the thick of it, I think.
When Madame had left the room, she called Eleanor to her, and in an almost trembling voice said:
“My dear, do you think you are quite right to speak so to Madame about that drawing?”
“I am very sorry, Miss Ellen,” said Eleanor; “but it’s what I think, and she asked me what I thought.”
“You are very clever, my dear,” said Miss Ellen, “and no one knows better than yourself that there are more ways than one of expressing one’s opinion.”