Rotha considered. "I suppose,—I should be called very proud; and you, madame, very extravagant, and partial."
"Not a desirable effect."
"No, madame. O no! I must wear these things." Rotha sighed.
"Especially as we are both called Christians."
"Yes, madame. There are a good many right things that are hard to do,
Mrs. Mowbray!"
"Else there would be no taking up the cross. But we ought to welcome any occasion of honouring our profession, even if it be a cross."
Rotha went away much comforted. Yet the clumsy foot gear remained a constant discomfort to her, every time she put them on and every time she felt the heavy clump they gave to her gait. Happily, she had no leisure to dwell on these things.
The holidays were ended, and the girls came trooping back from their various homes or places of pleasure. They came, as usual, somewhat disorganized by idleness and license. Study went hard, and discipline seemed unbearable; tempers were in an uncertain and irritable state. Rotha hugged herself that she had her own little corner room, in which she could be quite private and removed from all share in the dissensions and murmurings, which she knew abounded elsewhere. It was a very little room; but it held her and her books and her modest wardrobe too; and Rotha bent herself to her studies with great ardour and delight. She knew she was not popular among the girls; the very fact of her having a room to herself would almost have accounted for that; "there was no reason on earth why she should have it," as one of them said; and Mrs. Mowbray was accused of favouritism. Furthermore, Rotha was declared to be "nobody," and known to be poor; there was no advantage to be gained by being her adherent; and the world goes by advantage. Added to all which, she was distancing in her studies all the girls near her own age, and becoming known as the cleverest one in the house. No wonder Rotha had looks askance and frequently the cold shoulder. Her temperament, however, made her half unconscious of this, and when conscious, comfortably independent. She was one of those natures which live a concentrated life; loving deeply and seeking eagerly the good opinion of a few; to all the rest of the world careless and superior. She was polite and pleasant in her manners, which was easy, she was so happy; but she was hardly winning or ingratiating; too independent; and too outspoken.
The rule was that at the ringing of a bell in the morning all the girls should rise; and at the ringing of a second bell everybody should repair to the parlours for prayers and reading the Bible. The interval between the two bells was amply sufficient to allow the most fastidious dresser to make her toilette. But the hour was early; and the rousing bell an object of great detestation; also, it may be said, the half hour given to the Scriptures and prayer was a weariness if not to the flesh to the spirit, of many in the family. So it sometimes happened that one and another was behind time, and came into the parlour while the reading was going on, or after prayers were over. Mrs. Mowbray remarked upon this once or twice. Then came an outbreak; which allowed Rotha to see a new side of her friend's character, or to see it more plainly than heretofore. It was one morning a week or two after school had begun again; a cold morning in January. The gas was lit in the parlours; Mrs. Mowbray was at the table with her books; the girls seated in long lines around the rooms, each with a Bible.
"Where is Miss Bransome?" Mrs. Mowbray asked, looking along the lines of faces. "And Miss Dunstable?"