“But when I am in the mood I am always noisy,” said Robina.
“We don’t have moods here,” replied Mrs Burton, whereupon Robina stretched out her hand and helped herself without asking to a large piece of cake. She ate it almost greedily, stuffing great pieces into her mouth.
Mrs Burton was determined that no discipline should begin that evening, so she turned now to the subject of lessons. What did Robina know? Nothing, it seemed, and yet in a way everything.
“I have read lots,” answered that young lady calmly; “but they couldn’t manage me about my lessons; that was another reason why they sent me here. Did you know that?”
“Yes; I have heard it,” replied Mrs Burton.
“Do you mean to manage me here?” asked Robina.
“I hope so,” replied the headmistress.
“Nobody else has been able to do it,” said Robina in a very calm voice.
Then she got up, allowing a lot of crumbs to fall upon the floor, and walked to the window. She stood—perhaps with intention—her broad back to her governess. Mrs Burton looked at the back, the well-squared shoulders, the sturdy little figure, the thick hair which fell in luxuriant masses far below the child’s waist.
Mrs Burton was not one either to sigh or despair; but she knew quite well that she had undertaken no mean task in introducing Robina Starling into her orderly school. After a minute’s pause she got up, and, going to her little pupil, took her hand.