"I'm afraid Miss Pinchin is particularly engaged," answered the servant.
Cecil hesitated a moment: she knew, however, that such posts as Miss Edgar's were quickly snatched up; desperation gave her courage.
"Please take Miss Pinchin my name," she said; "Miss Ross—Miss Cecil Ross. Have the goodness to say that I have come to see her on very special business."
The maid withdrew, and Cecil waited on the steps. Three or four minutes went by, then the servant reappeared.
"Miss Pinchin can see you for a moment or two, miss," she said. "Come this way, please."
She led the girl down two or three passages, and entered a very small, prettily decorated boudoir, where an elderly lady with iron-gray hair, a sharp face, and a nose beaked like that of an eagle, sat in front of a desk.
"How do you do, Miss Ross?" said Miss Pinchin. "Pray take a seat. Can I do anything for you? Are your brothers well?"
"Yes, thank you, the boys are well," answered Cecil. She had to swallow a lump in her throat.
"I have come," she said, "to offer myself for the post of English teacher in your school. I heard about an hour ago that Miss Edgar had left you."
Cecil's boldness—the sudden direct glance of her eyes—alone prevented Miss Pinchin laughing aloud. Her remark astonished the good lady so much, however, that she was silent for nearly a minute. At last, looking full at the girl, she began to question her.