“You’re just like the Hatter,” Bridget observed; she sat nonchalantly on the arm of the sofa, and tapped the floor with one foot. “‘Have some wine?’ said the Hatter. ‘I don’t see any wine,’ Alice replied. ‘There isn’t any,’ said the Hatter.”
Miss Miles half rose from her seat.
“I don’t know what you mean. What Hatter?”
Bridget laughed.
“Now you look like the March Hare. What Hatter, indeed? Where have you been educated? I thought Scripture was taught in every school.”
Miss Miles managed to reach her feet; but Bridget sprang up and threw herself upon her.
“No, no, you mustn’t go,” she cried earnestly, through her laughter. “I’ll be serious; I will indeed. I’ll even talk about the Ethical Society if you’ll only stay. I’ll ring for tea. By ordering it at three, we shall get it at four; and that is really quick work for Matilda.”
Miss Miles allowed herself to be placed once more in the arm-chair. She made a great effort to collect her somewhat disturbed thoughts, watching Bridget with a sort of dull, uncomprehending admiration, as she moved about the room, putting exercise-books away, and pushing all the ugliest ornaments out of sight.
Presently she drew a chair near her visitor, and sat down at the table, propping her chin in the hollow of both hands.
“Tell me,” she said suddenly, leaning forward, “is life here always like this? Does one pass one’s time forever between the school and lodgings”—she swept the room with her swift glance,—“like these?”