"Of course," she said, "you have the best of it. Men always have."
Nevertheless, she would have him know that to be a Greycoat
was good enough for most people. She described the schoolroom.
"It's something like a chapel," she said, "and something like a long
whitewashed bird-cage, with great beams for perches. You could eat
your dinner off the floor most days; and Miss Champernowne has the
dearest little mole on the left side of her upper lip, with three
white hairs in it. When she looks at you over her glasses it's like
a bird getting ready to drink; and when she plays 'Another day is
done' on the harmonium and pitches the note, it's just the way a
bird lifts his throat to let the water trickle down inside.
She has the loveliest way of putting things, too. Only yesterday,
speaking of China, she told us that words would fail her to describe
one-half the wonders of that enchanted land. . . . After that there's
going to be no rest for me until I've seen China for myself.
Such a nice lot of children as they are, if it weren't for Marty
Jewell. She sits next to me and copies my sums, and when I remind
her of it she puts out her tongue; but she has a sister in the infant
class at the end of the room with the same trick, so I s'pose it runs
in the family. . . . I'm forgetting, though," she ran on.
"You're Brother Timothy now, a Beauchamp Brother, and the Lord knows
how I'm to make you sensible of it! I heard Brother Clerihew taking
a party around yesterday, and played around close to hear what he had
to tell about the place. All he said was that if these old walls
could speak what a tale might they not unfold? And then a lady
turned round and supposed that the child (meaning me) was following
them on the chance of a copper. So I came away. . . . I've my
belief," announced Corona, "Brother Clerihew was speaking through his
hat. There's nobody but Uncle Copas knows anything about this
place--him and the Lord Almighty; and as the chief engineer told me
aboard the _Carnatic_, when I kept asking him how soon we should get
to England, He won't split under a quart. The trouble is, Uncle
Copas won't lay up for visitors. Manby, at the lodge, says he's too
proud. . . . But maybe he'll take me round some day if I ask him
nicely, and then you can come on my arm and pretend you're not
listening. . . . No," announced Corona, after musing awhile, "that
would be deception. I'll have to go to him and make a clean breast
of it."