"I ran away from Cathy, down the lane," Emmie answered, clinging to his hand, and looking up coaxingly into his face. "I do love to see Queenie amongst them all. Did she not look nice, Mr. Clayton?"
"Very nice," returned Garth absently. In reality he was pondering over the little scene he had just witnessed. "It would make a picture," he thought; "the slim, girlish figure in the black dress, the bent brown head, the children's eager faces, the bowl of white narcissus on the desk, the sunshine streaming in at the open door." She had looked up at him, and smiled as he stood there, such a bright smile; somehow it haunted him. "What a brave, true heart it is," he thought, as he went down the village with Emmie still clinging closely to him. "She looked as proud of herself and her work as ever Princess Ida amongst her golden-haired girl-graduates. That is what I like about her; she is superior to the nonsense and conventionality of the present day. Most women would have felt themselves humiliated in her position; but she seems to have grasped the real meaning of her work and purpose. If it were not selfish I could find it in my heart to be half sorry about that legacy. I wanted to see if the bare crust she talked about would have set her teeth on edge in the eating. I had a notion that it would have been pleasant to see her working up her way alone; and then one would have a faint chance of helping her. She is beyond this now; Cathy says he has left her a hundred a-year. Why, with her salary and what she has they will have close upon two hundred. They will do capitally on that; and, after all, one would not like to see them pinch. Well, it is none of my business," finished Garth, rousing himself from his cogitations. "I wish Dora could have seen her just now, giving that object lesson; I fancy she would have changed her opinion altogether. How strange it was that they did not seem to take to each other; but then women are strange creatures, and difficult to understand."
It was an odd coincidence that made Garth think of Dora; for at that moment her little pony-carriage turned the corner of the lane. She waved her whip and her little gloved hand as she saw him; and Garth crossed the road with a slight flush on his face.
"I wanted to see Miss Marriott. I promised to call upon her; but I find the cottage is still unoccupied," said Miss Cunningham, leaning a little towards him, and fixing her calm blue eyes on his face. Not a look or gesture escaped her scrutiny. His slight confusion at her unexpected appearance was perfectly transparent to her. "Things are going on as they ought to go on," she said to herself; "but there is no need to hurry it;" and though her pulses quickened a little at his obvious pleasure at seeing her she would have scorned to betray her interest.
"They do not go in until Tuesday; we shall keep them until then," returned Garth, stroking the pony's neck absently. Dora was looking prettier than ever this morning, he thought. She wore a hat with a long, white curling feather; the golden hair shone under it; she patted it nonchalantly with her little gloved hand as she talked. Emmie interrupted them presently.
"School is over! there are the girls coming out. Prissy is last, of course. Ah! there is Queenie!" and she darted across the road, and almost threw herself on her sister. Queenie did not quicken her steps when she saw them. She came up a little reluctantly when she recognized the occupant of the pony-carriage.
Dora greeted her with her usual good-humor.
"Ah, there you are, Miss Marriott! how cool you look in that nice, broad-brimmed hat. But I am sorry to see you in black. You have lost a friend, Mr. Clayton tells me. Well, I told you that I should call and have a chat about the school and all manner of things. Will you jump in and let me drive you up the lane. Langley has promised me some luncheon."
"Emmie and I will be at the house as soon as you," returned Queenie, taking the child's hand and walking on swiftly. Miss Cunningham meant to be kind, she was sure of that; why was it that her manner always irritated her? There was a flavor of patronage in it that galled her sensitiveness. "Perhaps if she knew I had five thousand a-year she might change her tone," thought Queenie, a little wrathfully. "I never find it difficult to get on with people; and yet in my heart I cannot like her. Why will she make it her business to poach on other people's manor? The Hepshaw school is my affair, and has nothing to do with Crossbill Vicarage."
Miss Cunningham seemed to think otherwise. She cross-examined Queenie all through luncheon on a hundred petty details. Queenie, to her surprise, found she was acquainted with many of the girls' names and histories. She put the new mistress right on one or two points with much shrewdness and cleverness. She could talk, and talk well, on most subjects. By-and-bye, when the school was exhausted, she turned to Garth, and argued quite a knotty point of politics with him, elucidating her view with a clear-headedness and force of words that surprised her feminine hearers.