"What was the use of fussing over such a stupid, useless thing as spelling?" This was his thought of thoughts.
The day was a warm one. Jane Macalister was icily cold, however, as unapproachable as an iceberg. Boris watched her with anxiety. He knew well that there was no chance for him and Kitty; they would both be punished for being late for prayers.
Oh, dear, oh, dear; why was Jane so unbeautiful, so unapproachable in school hours?
"I know she'll keep Kitty and me in during the whole of the play hour," he muttered to himself. "I'm certain of it, because the tip of her nose is getting red; that's a sign that she's worried, and when she's worried she's twice as bad as she is at any other time."
"What noise is that? Oh!—I say—Miss Macalister——"
Jane Macalister was always spoken to in this correct fashion during school hours.
"I say, there's a visitor!" burst from the eager lips of the little boy.
He started to his feet as he spoke, upsetting the ink-pot over his own copybook and also over Kitty's white-frilled pinafore.
"Boris, you are incorrigible!" exclaimed Jane. "You lose all your conduct marks for the week, and must stay indoors for an hour and learn a piece of poetry after lessons."
Boris got very red and tried to smile. The blow had fallen, so he wasn't going to whimper over it. He would stand up to his punishment like a man. He meant to be a soldier some day, and felt exactly now as if he were facing the guns. He met Elinor's full, troubled grey eyes, and seated himself slowly once more in his chair.