Away by herself in a far corner was Rouse, painstakingly stretching her ham-strings by walking her palms up to her feet. She couldn't really need to stretch her ham-strings, not after years of continued stretching, so presumably this was merely a North-Country example of "makking siccar." There was no fooling about for Miss Rouse; life was real, life was earnest; life was long ham-strings and a good post in the offing. Lucy wished she liked Miss Rouse better, and looked round for Dakers as a sort of antidote. But there was no tow-head and cheerful pony-face among the collection.
And then, suddenly, the desultory noise and the chatter faded.
No one had come in by the open door at the far end, but there was beyond doubt a Presence in the place. Lucy could feel it coming up through the gallery floor at her feet. She remembered that there was a door at the foot of the stairway; where The Abhorrence stood. Someone had come in down there.
There was no audible word of command, but the students, who a moment before had been scattered over the floor like beads from a broken string, were now, as if by magic, standing in a still, waiting line.
Froken Gustavsen walked out from under the gallery, and surveyed them.
"Unt wvere ees Mees Dakers?" she asked in a cool small voice. But even as she said it a flustered Dakers ran in through the open door, and stopped short as she saw the picture that waited her.
"Oh, catastrophe!" she wailed, and darted to the gap that someone had accommodatingly left for her. "Oh, I am sorry, Froken. Abyssmally sorry. It was just that-"
"Ees eet proposed to be laate at the Demonstraation?" asked Froken, with almost scientific interest.
"Oh, no, of course not, Froken. It was just that-"
"We know. We know. Something was lost, or broke. Eef eet wass possible to come to thees plaace naakid, Mees Dakers would still find something to lose or break. Attention!"