“There is that giraffe,” said Gwen impatiently, “I suppose we are wanted! Mrs. Fellowes, look at him,” she whispered, “everybody who comes to this house looks like that in a week, and as for Mary, she is awful, going about in a muttering way and glaring at me as if I was a penny show. The tutors are the same, even that great leggy gawk—oh dear, what’s the matter with us all?
“And another thing—oh, wait just a moment, they’ll never know if we’re one minute late or twenty, they don’t want us a bit, oh no, they never do, I tell you, they are quite happy and oh, so busy, so appallingly busy—I want to tell you another horrible habit the people here have. I must tell you all this,” she added seeing Dacre’s rather astonished face, “it has all just come up to the surface of me. The people in this place always whisper in the most diabolical way, there is never a single sound in these corridors, never, and that’s why I often nearly—burst to howl and screech. Dacre is an idiot as everyone knows, and he says I’m mad.”
“Hush, child!”
“Oh well, come on then, but there’s not an atom of hurry, they don’t want us.”
“Mrs. Fellowes isn’t such an ass as not to know that,” said Dacre scornfully, “but I want to know what’s on in there, so does she, so come on.”
“It’s nothing nice, you may be quite sure, it’s probably got something to do with lessons. Perhaps they want to examine you before you go to school,” she added with a fiendish laugh.
Her mouth was terrible in its hardness. Mrs. Fellowes stooped down quickly and kissed her on it.
“Gwen, love, you don’t know, something very nice may be going to happen to you, the very nicest thing that has ever yet happened.”
Gwen looked up at her astonished, some tone in her soft voice touched her.
“I wonder—” she said slowly, “I wish——”