arge,
red-brick house, standing alone in its own grounds; it was not a cottage
of gentility, but a place which an estate agent would have described as
a desirable mansion. Everything about it, mutely, but eloquently, said
money. Big glass-houses, big coach-houses, big plate glass windows,
spacious gardens, trim lawns, etc., etc., etc.

As the school filed past, an elaborate barouche drew up to the iron
gateway, and a lady, who was about entering it, stared at our party, and
then looked keenly at Margot. She was a pretty woman, blonde, with a
mass of fluffy, honey-coloured hair, and a cold, pale blue pair of eyes.
Her costume was of smooth, blue-grey cloth, the flowing cloak lined with
ermine, and her hat a marvel of millinery; indeed, she presented a
striking contrast to the professor's daughter in her plain, neat black
coat and frock, and small toque, with its trimming of white narcissi,
and I cannot say that I was favourably impressed by the unknown, she was
far too cold and purse-proud looking to please me.

After a close and none too polite scrutiny, the lady bowed, approached,
and held out her hand.

"Good-morning, Miss Revere," she said graciously, yet with more than a
suspicion of patronage, "I trust the professor is well," and without
waiting for an answer, "and your mother? We have been so busy
entertaining, that I have been quite unable to call, or send! However,
tell her that I am going to send for her to Bellevue, the very _first_
day I'm alone, the _very first_!"

We two girls were alone (the rest having gone on with Fraeulein
Schwartze), and there was silence for a moment, during which the lady
turned toward her well-appointed carriage; then Margot spoke, with some
asperity, though I heard the tears in her silvery voice.

"Mrs. Seawood," she said, "there is no more need to trouble; _maman_ has
gone where no one will be ashamed of her because she was poor."

The lady turned a little pale, and expressed herself as shocked, and
then, having offered some cold condolences, spoke to the coachman; and
as we passed on we heard the quick rattle of the horses' hoofs, as the
barouche rolled down the long drive.

There are times when silence is golden, and _this_ was one! I did not
speak until we came to a five-barred gate, on the topmost rung of which
Margot laid her arms, bent her head, and sobbed like a little child.

I put my arm round her neck to comfort her.

"Margot, _cherie_," I whispered, "tell me w