“Just so, just so,” Miss Sibson answered, pleased to see that the girl was too proud to give way before her—though she was sure that she would cry by and by. “I am glad to think that there is no harm done. As I have said, the sooner a false step is retraced, the better; and therefore if he calls again I shall not permit him to see you.”
“I do not wish to see him,” Mary said with dignity.
“Very good. Then that is understood.”
But strangely enough, the words had barely fallen from Miss Sibson’s lips when there came a knock at the house door, and the same thought leapt to the mind of each; and to Mary’s cheek a sudden vivid blush that, fading as quickly as it came, left her paler than before. Miss Sibson saw the girl’s distress, and she was about to suggest, in words equivalent to a command, that she should retire, when the door opened and the neat maidservant announced—with poorly masked excitement—that a gentleman wished to see Miss Smith.
Miss Sibson frowned.
“Where is he?” she asked, with majesty; as if she already scented the fray.
“In the parlour, Ma’am.”
“Very good. Very good. I will see him.” But not until the maid had retired did the schoolmistress rise to her feet. “You had better stay here,” she said, looking at her companion, “until my return. It is of course your wish that I should dismiss him?”
Mary shivered. Those dreams of something brighter, something higher, something fuller than the daily round; of a life in the sunshine, of eyes that looked into hers—this was their end! But she said “Yes,” bravely.
“Good girl,” said Miss Sibson, feeling, good, honest creature, more than she showed. “I will do so.” And she swam forth.