“We said goodbye in the morning, before I started.”
“But you could not have, if you were to travel together.”
“Oh, indeed we could. You don’t know the Petticoat’s goodbyes. They stretch right over the past and future. Nothing that we could have said here, would have added to them.”
“We all know that sort of goodbye,” said Maud, “and it was a very natural occasion on which to have one. Now do leave poor Clemence alone, Esther. Anyone might find the first day confusing, and you are not doing anything to make it less so. And naturally she knows her own affairs.”
“Well, if she does not, she can easily produce some others,” said Esther, in a rapid undertone. “And I do not think she is confused. And I quite agree with everyone that she is clever.”
“Can you call Miss Petticott by the old nursery name without getting a lump in your throat?” said Gwendolen.
“I do not think about it; we have done it for so long,” said Clemence, her voice uncertain, as this condition threatened her.
“Poor Clemence! She has had a long day, and we have all been teasing her,” said Maud.
Esther turned her pillow and closed her eyes, dissociating herself from a situation to which she had perhaps sufficiently contributed.
“I am going to get you a glass of water, Clemence,” said Gwendolen. “I think a cup of cold water is what it would be called.”
“Gwendolen, are you thinking of what you are saying?” said Maud.
Clemence rose in the morning with a sense that a cloud threatened her world, and that she must walk warily until it was dispelled.
Things passed as she would have expected, until they assembled in the classroom. Miss Chancellor checked the names and set matters on foot, and waited for Miss Laurence, who was to succeed her. She had a tendency to welcome encounter with the latter, and was not expected to withdraw until it had taken place. Miss Laurence entered a little behind her time, a little absent and distraught, and more than a little dishevelled, which last circumstance was accepted as an occasional adjunct to a picture that as a whole invited no criticism. Miss Chancellor rose, collided with her, made a full apology, and was repaid by a more perfunctory one. Gwendolen opened the door for Miss Chancellor and received a courteous acknowledgment, which she did not take as directed to herself. Miss Laurence confronted her class and proceeded to fulfil her character.
“Now have I left my books behind? Shall I have to teach you out of my head? I hope I have not forgotten all I know, as I have no doubt you have. Perhaps we had better all begin at the beginning.”
“There are your books, Miss Laurence,” said Verity, indicating a pile that Miss Laurence had just put down.
“So they are, my good, observant child. Now we can make our impression on Clemence. She is used to masculine tuition, and is ready to look down on us. Will you read the Latin in turn and then translate the passages? I know you are not prepared, and that it will be painful to hear you, but we have to get through the hour. Maud, Verity, Esther, Gwendolen, Clemence. That is your order on the books. I wonder what it will be at the end of the term.”
“I expect Clemence will be the first, and before that date,” said Esther.
It looked as if this might be the case. Clemence was in advance of the rest, and when she had a private lesson in Greek, also acquitted herself well. She was treated with ordinary, unexaggerated approval, but she felt her success, saw a word exchanged by Miss Laurence and Miss Chancellor, and had bright eyes and cheeks by the middle of the morning.
“Nothing succeeds like success,” said Esther. “Would anyone think that Clemence was the same person as she was yesterday?”
“Well, you are rather different yourself, Esther,” said Maud. “And it is not too much to say that we hope you will remain so. You and Clemence were both over-tired, though she gave less evidence of it.”
“Her memory was odd,” said Esther. “That is a sign of fatigue.”
“Perhaps it is as well not to talk about the different signs of it, Esther.”
“Miss Chancellor, I have conquered myself,” said Gwendolen. “I have got over my jealousy of Clemence. It belongs to a self I have left behind.”
“I am glad its life was such a short one, Gwendolen,” said Miss Chancellor, finding her amusement echoed by Lesbia, who stood, as she frequently did, in silent attention.
“Her success shall be sweeter to me than my own.”
“Your success would be sweet to me, Gwendolen,” said Lesbia, advancing and speaking gravely. “Yes it would. And I mean what I say. I hope you will try to attain it this term.”
“I am not a clever person, Miss Firebrace.”
“No, you are not. That is not your word. But you have your own capacities, if you would use them. And I am asking you to do so.”
“Yes, Miss Firebrace.”
“I hope you will all act up to the best that is in you,” said Lesbia, looking from face to face. “This is a small form, and each of you has a chance to make her mark, and leave it. That is not always the case and may not always be so. You should make the most of it.”
“The forms seem to get smaller and smaller. I suppose the school is going down,” said Esther, after allowing time for Lesbia to withdraw.
“And why do you think that, Esther?” said the latter, who had not availed herself of it.
“Well, if the numbers get less, I suppose that is how it must be.”
“Our numbers are larger,” said Lesbia, in a cool, incidental tone. “We have arranged small forms, and more of them, for your benefit. We hope to be able to maintain the arrangement, but questions are involved that are beyond your scope. That is why I have advised you to make the most of it.”
“I suppose our parents do not pay enough,” said Esther, after waiting again for Lesbia’s withdrawal, and this time ascertaining that it had taken place.
“Well, there must be a certain correspondence in things, Esther,” said Maud.
“My father says the bills increase. And I cannot see any advantage in such small forms myself.”
“Well, I can, Esther,” said Miss Marathon, entering with her books under her arm, and in no doubt of their whereabouts, “if I may answer a speech that was not addressed to me. It prevents pupils from getting to the back of the class and taking advantage of it in their own way. I think we remember some incidents of that kind.”
The girls just glanced at Esther, who had figured in one of these, and silence ensued while Miss Marathon chalked a problem on the board. As the girls took it down, Esther’s voice was again audible, though intentionally only to her neighbour.
“This place is a nest of professional eavesdroppers.”
Miss Marathon raised her eyes in complex feeling, and a voice came as though in response to the mute appeal.
“It is true that I have a profession, Esther, but it is not that of eavesdropper. I have a right to walk where I will in my own house, and I shall continue to use it. And it is a pity you so often say things that you do not wish to be heard, that is, that you are a little ashamed of. If you broke yourself of the habit, you would not need to be concerned about what you choose to call eavesdropping.”
There was silence over this choice of Esther’s, and Lesbia continued in an even, distinct tone.
“I do not take a harsh or narrow view of the intercourse amongst you. No, I do not, Esther. You are allowed more latitude than is often the case. You would not meet it everywhere. I know that young people must talk, and that it is idle to look for much weight or worth in what they say — or to listen for it, if you will.” Miss Marathon just raised her eyes at this open appraisement. “But things must be kept within certain bounds, and within those bounds they will be kept. Do you understand me, Esther?”