"It struck me so."
She said no more. She sat looking out straight before her with a sort of bewildered stare. Mr. Henry left her to return to the hall; but she sat on, staring still and seeing nothing.
[CHAPTER IX.]
Christmas Day.
Some weeks elapsed. Things had blown over, and the Christmas holidays were coming on. Wonders and calamities; and, in some degree, suspicions; yield to the soothing hand of time. Talbot's accident was almost forgotten; the lost pencil (never found) was not thought of so much as it had been, and the gossip respecting it had ceased.
The bitterness had not lessened against George Paradyne. Gall could not fathom its source. There was no cause for it, as far as he knew, except that the boy had been placed at once at the first desk, and had entered his name for the Orville prize; both of which facts were highly presumptuous in a new scholar, and an outsider. It was also known that he was in the habit of flying to Mrs. Butter's house for help in his studies: the boys supposed that the German (as they derisively called Mr. Henry) was paid for giving it: and many an ill-natured sneer was levelled at them both.
"Are you going to coach Paradyne through the holidays?" asked Trace of Mr. Henry, condescending to address him for once in a way: and be it remarked that when Trace so far unbended, he did not forget his usual civility. But Mr. Henry always detected the inward feeling.
"Trace," he said, every tone betraying earnest kindness, "you spend the holidays at Sir Simon's, therefore I shall be within reach. Come to me, and let me read with you: I know you are anxious to get the Orville. Come every day; I will do my very best to push you on."
"You are a finished scholar?" observed Trace, cynically.
"As finished as any master in the college. When a young man knows (as I did) that he has nothing else to trust to, he is wise to make use of his opportunities. I believe also that I have a peculiar aptitude for teaching. Come and try me."
"What would be your terms?"