I was fifteen, and had left Miss Fenton's for good; thoroughly well-educated, so far. And now they were sending me to a school in France to finish.
I will not say precisely where this school was situated: there are reasons against it; but what little record I give of the establishment shall be true and faithful. It was not at Boulogne or at Calais, those renowned seaports, inundated with Anglo-French schools; neither was it in Paris or Brussels, or at Dieppe. We can call the town Nulle, and that's near enough. It was kept by two ladies, sisters, the Demoiselles Barlieu. The negotiations had been made by my trustees, and Mrs. Hemson had brought me to London, down to the steamer on this early morning, and was now consigning me to the care of Miss Barlieu's English governess, whom we had met there by appointment. She was a very plain young person, carrying no authority in appearance, and looking not much like a lady. Authority, as I found, she would have little in the school; she was engaged to teach English, and there her duties ended.
"You had better secure a berth and lie down," she said to me. "The night has been cold, and it is scarcely light enough yet to be on deck."
"Any ladies for shore?" cried a rough voice at the cabin door.
"Shore!" echoed Miss Johnstone, in what seemed alarm. "You are surely not going to start yet! I am waiting for another young lady."
"It wont be more than five minutes now, mum."
"A pupil?" I asked her.
"I believe so. Mademoiselle Barlieu wrote to me that two——"
"Any lady here of the name of Johnstone?"
The inquiry came from a middle-aged, quiet-looking person, who was glancing in at the cabin door. By her side stood a most elegant girl of seventeen, perhaps eighteen, her eyes blue, her face brilliantly fair, her dress handsome.