“My education has been sadly neglected,” she continued; “but I have had some little instruction in drawing. You will not find me so ignorant as some of the other girls.” She waited a little, anticipating a few complimentary words. Alban waited also—in silence. “I shall look forward with pleasure to my lessons under such an artist as yourself,” she went on, and waited again, and was disappointed again. “Perhaps,” she resumed, “I may become your favorite pupil—Who knows?”
“Who indeed!”
It was not much to say, when he spoke at last—but it was enough to encourage Francine. She called him “dear Mr. Morris”; she pleaded for permission to take her first lesson immediately; she clasped her hands—“Please say Yes!”
“I can’t say Yes, till you have complied with the rules.”
“Are they your rules?”
Her eyes expressed the readiest submission—in that case. He entirely failed to see it: he said they were Miss Ladd’s rules—and wished her good-evening.
She watched him, walking away down the terrace. How was he paid? Did he receive a yearly salary, or did he get a little extra money for each new pupil who took drawing lessons? In this last case, Francine saw her opportunity of being even with him “You brute! Catch me attending your class!”
CHAPTER XXXIII. RECOLLECTIONS OF ST. DOMINGO.
The night was oppressively hot. Finding it impossible to sleep, Francine lay quietly in her bed, thinking. The subject of her reflections was a person who occupied the humble position of her new servant.