Miss Thompson's face was so light and thin that you thought it would break if you squeezed it. The skin was drawn tight over her jaw and the bridge of her nose and the sharp naked arches of her eye-bones. She looked at you with mournful, startled eyes that were too large for their lids; and her flat chin trembled slightly as she talked.
"This is Rodney," she said, as if she were repeating a lesson after
Mamma.
Rodney leaned up against Mamma and looked proud and handsome. She had her arm round him, and every now and then she pressed it tighter to draw him to herself.
Miss Thompson said after Mamma, "And this is Mary."
Her mournful eyes moved and sparkled as if she had suddenly thought of something for herself.
"I am sure," she said, "they will be very good."
Mamma shook her head, as much as to say Miss Thompson must not build on it.
Every weekday from ten to twelve Miss Thompson came and taught them reading, writing and arithmetic. Every Wednesday at half-past eleven the boys' tutor, Mr. Sippett, looked in and taught Rodney "Mensa: a table."
Mamma told them they must never be naughty with Miss Thompson because her mother was dead.
They went away and talked about her among the gooseberry bushes at the bottom of the garden.