"And try to remember," Iris continued, "that there may be chances in the future which you don't see yet. You speak of what you have read, and I have already noticed how clearly and correctly you express yourself. You must have been educated. Was it at home? or at school?
"I was once sent to school," Fanny replied, not quite willingly.
"Was it a private school?"
"Yes."
That short answer warned Iris to be careful.
"Recollections of school," she said good-humouredly, "are not the pleasantest recollections in some of our lives. Perhaps I have touched on a subject which is disagreeable to you?"
"You have touched on one of my disappointments, Miss. While my mother lived, she was my teacher. After her death, my father sent me to school. When he failed in business, I was obliged to leave, just as I had begun to learn and like it. Besides, the girls found out that I was going away, because there was no money at home to pay the fees—and that mortified me. There is more that I might tell you. I have a reason for hating my recollections of the school—but I mustn't mention that time in my life which your goodness to me tries to forget."
All that appealed to her, so simply and so modestly, in that reply, was not lost on Iris. After an interval of silence, she said:
"Can you guess what I am thinking of, Fanny?"
"No, Miss."