"Good-bye, child," he said, holding out his hand limply. Then he drew
me to him and pressed a very light kiss on my forehead.
"Glad you are with Grace--Miss Donnithorne, I mean. Hope you are
enjoying yourself. I'll expect you back on the evening of Tuesday.
School begins on Wednesday. You mustn't neglect your books. As
glorious Milton says--"
He rhapsodised for two minutes, then stopped, glanced at Hermione, and
said abruptly, "Don't know this young lady."
"Oh yes, you do, Professor," said Miss Donnithorne. "This is my great
friend, Miss Hermione Aldyce."
"My father is a great admirer of yours, sir," said Hermione, colouring
slightly and looking very pretty.
"Eh--eh?" said the Professor. "Don't like people to admire me.
Good-bye, good-bye.--Good-bye, Miss Donnithorne--Grace, I mean--no, Miss
Donnithorne, I mean. Good-bye, good-bye!"
He was out of the house and down the path before we had hardly time to
breathe. Hermione went away a few minutes afterwards, and Miss
Donnithorne and I had the evening to ourselves. We had supper almost in
silence. There was a sort of constraint over us. I looked at Miss
Donnithorne, and saw that she was very pale. I said to myself, "No
wonder, poor thing! She has had some of father's eloquence dinned into
her ears; it is enough to scare any one."
After a long period of silence, during which I was scraping more and
more apple off the core of the baked one I had been eating, and trying
to fiddle with my bread and get it to last as long as possible, she said
abruptly, "One's duty is sometimes difficult, is it not, little Rachel?"
"Is it?" I answered. "Yes, I suppose so."
She looked at me again.
"You are the index-finger which points to the path of duty," was her
next remarkable speech.
This was too much!
"I hate being called an index-finger!" was my answer. "I don't know
what it means."
She got up, put her arm round me, and kissed me.
"I would be good to you," she said in her softest voice.
It really was difficult to resist her. She was a very sweet woman. I
knew it then by the way she kissed me, and I don't think in all my life
I ever felt anything softer than the soft, soft cheek which was pressed
against mine. Had she been a girl of my own age, she could not have had
a more delicate complexion.
"You are good to me--you are very good to me," I said with gratitude.
"I like you and even love you, and I hope you will like me and not
misunderstand me."
"But why should I?" I asked.
"Come into the other room, child," was her remark.
We went into the room where the stuffed birds were, and Miss Donnithorne
sat down and poked up the fire.