The bright little French governess, Mademoiselle La Roche, had long ago fallen into disgrace, and the heavy-featured, stolid Fraulein Heimer had taken her place.
It was a damp, chilly day in October; a clinging mist pervaded the whole place; the leaves lay in rotting heaps on the garden paths; the black boughs of the almost leafless trees seemed to shiver and creak in their bareness.
Inside the prospect was scarcely more cheering. A small cindery fire burned drearily in the large class-room, scarcely driving out the damp, which seemed to settle everywhere, on the dim window-panes, on the globes and bust of Pallas, making Queenie shiver as she bent over the piles of slates and exercises at one corner of the long table.
Across the hall she could hear now and then the pleasant spluttering of logs and clink of tea-spoons; a faint perfume, redolent of tea and toast, was wafted across from the little room where Miss Titheridge and the German governess were sitting cosily in the twilight, with their feet on the fender, and a plate of buttered muffins between them. An hour hence a tempting repast of weak tea and thick bread and butter would be dispensed to Miss Titheridge's young ladies, to be enjoyed as only hungry school-girls can enjoy. But Miss Titheridge was never present on these occasions; her nerves required a certain amount of quiet, and meditation towards the close of the day was necessary to all thoughtful minds. It was a little odd that Miss Titheridge's meditations were always accompanied by a mysterious sound closely resembling somnolence.
As the dusk crept on, Queenie shivered and sighed uneasily over her task; some harassing thought evidently impeded progress. By and by she pushed the books impatiently from her, and began pacing the room with quick, restless steps, now and then pausing to rest her hot forehead against the window-pane.
"Twice this week," she muttered at last, half aloud. "I must speak, whatever happens; and yet if I should do harm? I wish Cathy were here; but no, we trouble her enough; I must act on my own responsibility; I can do anything but stand by and see it. If I were only sure of keeping my temper!"
Uttering these slightly incoherent sentences, the young governess moved slowly to the door, remaining there irresolutely a moment; and then, with a sudden determination, walked quickly across the passage, and knocked at the opposite door.
"Who wants me at this unseemly hour? Oh, it is you of course, Miss Marriott," and Miss Titheridge sat bolt upright, and glared stonily at the culprit through her spectacles.
"Ach, she is always so inconsiderate, this Meess," echoed the sympathizing Fraulein.
Miss Titheridge was a tall, masculine-looking woman, with a spare figure and a Roman nose. Why do strong-minded women invariably have Roman noses?