se me, I can't
trust my memory: I must get the play." With that abrupt apology, she
walked away rapidly in the direction of the house.

In some surprise, Francine turned, and looked at the trees. She
discovered--in full retreat, on his side--the eccentric drawing-master,
Alban Morris.

Did he, too, admire the dagger-scene? And was he modestly desirous of
hearing it recited, without showing himself? In that case, why should
Emily (whose besetting weakness was certainly not want of confidence in
her own resources) leave the garden the moment she caught sight of him?
Francine consulted her instincts. She had just arrived at a conclusion
which expressed itself outwardly by a malicious smile, when gentle
Cecilia appeared on the lawn--a lovable object in a broad straw hat
and a white dress, with a nosegay in her bosom--smiling, and fanning
herself.

"It's so hot in the schoolroom," she said, "and some of the girls, poor
things, are so ill-tempered at rehearsal--I have made my escape. I hope
you got your breakfast, Miss de Sor. What have you been doing here, all
by yourself?"

"I have been making an interesting discovery," Francine replied.

"An interesting discovery in our garden? What _can_ it be?"

"The drawing-master, my dear, is in love with Emily. Perhaps she doesn't
care about him. Or, perhaps, I have been an innocent obstacle in the way
of an appointment between them."

Cecilia had breakfasted to her heart's content on her favorite
dish--buttered eggs. She was in such good spirits that she was inclined
to be coquettish, even when there was no man present to fascinate. "We
are not allowed to talk about love in this school," she said--and hid
her face behind her fan. "Besides, if it came to Miss Ladd's ears, poor
Mr. Morris might lose his situation."

"But isn't it true?" asked Francine.

"It may be true, my dear; but nobody knows. Emily hasn't breathed a word
about it to any of us. And Mr. Morris keeps his own secret. Now and then
we catch him looking at her--and we draw our own conclusions."

"Did you meet Emily on your way here?"

"Yes, and she passed without speaking to me."

"Thinking perhaps of Mr. Morris."

Cecilia shook her head. "Thinking, Francine, of the new life before
her--and regretting, I am afraid, that she ever confided her hopes and
wishes to me. Did she tell you last night what her prospects are when
she leaves school?"

"She told me you had been very kind in helping her. I daresay I