Georgina Beauclerc's great blue eyes, so clear and round, were fixed on one particular spot, and that appeared to be one rather difficult to see. She had her face and nose pressed against the glass, looking toward the college schoolroom, a huge building on the right of the deanery, just beyond the cloisters.
"They are late again!" she exclaimed, in a soliloquy of resentment. "I wish that horrid old Wilberforce was burnt!"
"Georgina!"
The tone of the reproof, more fractious than surprised, came from a recess in the large room, and Georgina turned hastily.
"Why, when did you come in, mamma? I thought you were safe in your bed room."
Mrs. Beauclerc came forward, a thin woman with a somewhat discontented look on her face, and a little nose, red at the tip. She had long given up all real rule of Georgina, but she had not given up attempting it. And Georgina, a wild, spoilt child, was in the habit of saying and doing very much what she liked. She made great friends of the college schoolboys, and had picked up many of their sayings; and this was particularly objectionable to the reserved Mrs. Beauclerc.
"What did you say about Mr. Wilberforce?"
"I said I wished he was burnt."
"Oh, Georgina!"
"I do wish he was scorched. It has struck one o'clock and the boys are not out! What business has he to keep them in? He did it once before."