combed back
from a massive forehead, and beautifully dressed in long, clinging
garments of deep purple, stood on the hearth. Round her neck was a
collar of old Mechlin lace; she wore cuffs of the same with ruffles at
the wrist. Her hands were small and white. She had one massive diamond
ring on the third finger. This lady was the great Miss Ravenscroft, the
head of the school, one of the most persuasive, most fascinating, and
most influential teachers in the whole realm of girlhood. Her opinion
was asked by anxious mothers and fathers and guardians. The girls whom
she took into her own house and helped with her own counsel were thought
the luckiest in England. Even Alice, who was reckoned a good girl as
good girls go, had never before come in personal contact with Miss
Ravenscroft. The head-mistress superintended the management of every
girl in the school, but she did not show herself except when she read
prayers in her deep musical voice morning after morning, or when
something very special occurred. Miss Ravenscroft did not smile when
Alice appeared, nor did she hold out her hand. She bowed very slightly
and then dropped into a chair, and pointed to another for the girl to
take.

"You are Alice Tennant?"

"Yes, madam."

"You are in the upper fifth?"

"Yes," said Alice again.

"I have had very good reports of you from Miss Purcell and Miss Dove and
others; you will probably be in the sixth next year."

"I hope so; it will be a very great delight to me."

Alice trembled and colored, looked down, and then looked up again. Miss
Ravenscroft was regarding her with kindly eyes. Hers was a sort of
veiled face; she seldom gave way to her feelings. Part of her power lay
in her potential attitudes, in the possibilities which she seldom,
except on very rare occasions, exhibited to their fullest extent. Alice
felt that she had only approached the extreme edge of Miss Ravenscroft's
nature. Miss Ravenscroft was silent for a minute; then she said gently:

"And your friend, Kathleen O'Hara? I wrote to her also. Why isn't she
here?"

"I am very sorry indeed," said Alice; "it isn't my fault."

"We won't talk of faults, if you please, Alice Tennant. I asked you why
your friend isn't here."

"I must explain. She isn't my friend. She lives with mother--I mean she
boards with mother."

"Why isn't she here?"

"She got your letter. I suppose she didn't understand; she is so new to
schools. She is not coming."

"Not coming?