New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Schools -- Fiction; Teachers -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
"Really. By the time you've chaperoned miscellaneous specimens of the
up-to-date young person for a few months, Miss Carewe, you'll not be
surprised at any breach of good taste. The girls carry on handkerchief
flirtations with strangers from the windows."
"Girls from respectable families?"
"Girls from excellent families. Of course, there are numbers of
well-bred girls who behave correctly; and there's nothing actually bad
about the ones who behave badly. They are merely lacking in good taste
and overcharged with animal spirits or sentimentality. I'm always
surprised that they don't get into all sorts of disgraceful scrapes, but
they seldom do. We have to be eternally vigilant, though."
"But handkerchief flirtation is so unspeakably common," said Belinda
emphatically--then, with a twinkle, "and such a desecration of a really
fine art."
Miss Barnes shook her head.
"The Misses Ryder haven't any sense of humour," she warned; "you'd
better let your conversation be yea, yea, and nay, nay"--but she smiled.
At five minutes to eight the Youngest Teacher stood in the lower hall,
surrounded by schoolgirls of assorted sizes and shapes, and prayerfully
hoping that she didn't look as foolish as she felt.
One of the older teachers, commissioned by Miss Ryder, had come down to
see the expedition fairly started. She was a plump, sleek woman with an
automatic smile and a pneumatic manner.
"You will all give your car fares to Miss Carewe, young ladies," she
purred. "You have your rubbers? That's right. The pavements are damp.
Miss Bowers and Miss Somerville, you may lead. Fall in closely, in
couples, and be very careful not under any circumstances to become
separated from the chaperon. She will report any annoyance you may cause
her. I hope you will have a delightful evening."
The door closed upon her unnatural amiability. Six couples swung into
the street, with Belinda at their heels. Out of the grim, inclosing
walls, with the cool, moist air in their faces, the lights reflected
gayly in the glistening pavements, the cabs and carriages dashing by,
the mystery and fascination of a great city clinging around them, and a
matinée idol beckoning them, the girls began to find life more cheerful.
Even fat, babyish little Kittie Dayton, whose face was swollen and
blotted almost beyond human semblance by six hours of intermittent
weeping, stopped blowing her nose long enough to squeal delightedly:
"Oh-e-e! The man kissed the lady in that cab."
It was with difficulty that Belinda stopped a stampede in the direction
of the hansom. This was seeing New York. The melancholy atmosphere of
the school was forgotten.
They giggled in the car. It worried Belinda. Later she learned to bow to
the inevitable. The young man who gave Amelia Bowers his seat was
sociably inclined; but, on the whole, Amelia behaved very well, though
she admitted, later, that she thought he had "most romantic eyes, and a
perfectly elegant waistcoat."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account