"But heaps of them do, and you won't be long at the school before you find that there are as nice German girls as English. You must not take Riki von Kronenfel as a specimen." I said nothing more, and after a time Hermione continued, "Now let us turn to something else. I had a letter from my father to-day; I am not to go home for Easter." "Oh dear! Easter will be here in a fortnight now," I said. "I do not suppose for a single moment that I shall have a chance of getting back." "But have you heard definitely?" "No." At this moment there was a tap at our door, and Justine entered with some letters. Of course, we both fell upon them as girls will all over the world, and the next minute we were eagerly sorting our different letters from a pile which Justine, with her most gracious French manner, had laid on the table--two for Hermione, one for me, and one for Augusta. "From my step-mother," I said, and I sank into a chair and opened it. Far away from home Mrs Grant seemed like a very beneficent and kind presence; her letters were charming, as they told me every single thing I wanted to know; nothing was forgotten, nothing left out. I opened the letter now. To my surprise, I saw that it was quite short. "My dear Dumps,--I cannot write as much as I would to-day, for I am sorry to say your father is not quite himself." I started. There seemed to come a little prick at my heart--not a very big prick, just a momentary sense of uneasiness. "He has a severe chill--not an ordinary cold--and he is in bed." The Professor in bed! I laid down my letter and looked up at Hermione with startled eyes. "What is it?" she said. "Father is in bed," I replied. "Good gracious, how you made me jump! And why shouldn't he be in bed?" "You don't understand. Why, I never remember his staying in bed. He is never ill, except with those fearful headaches." "He hadn't a good, careful woman like Grace Donnithorne to look after him in the past," replied Hermione in an indifferent tone. "For goodness' sake don't be anxious!" Just at this moment the door opened and Augusta entered. "A letter for you," said Hermione. She glanced at me as she spoke, and her eyes evidently implored me to keep my news to myself. But Augusta had seen my face. "Is anything wrong?" "Nothing--nothing," said Hermione, with impatience. "For goodness' sake don't worry her, Augusta; she has not quite got over her cold. Fancy any girl being nervous because her father is in bed for a day or two!" "The Professor ill?" said Augusta. "Oh no," I answered. Her tone was like a tonic to me. If she was anxious, surely I needn't be. "That is," I continued, glancing down at my step-mother's letter, "he is not very well, that's all." "I knew he was too good," said Augusta. She took up her letter and walked out of the room, slamming the door after her. "It really is provoking," I said, "when your friend feels more about your father than you do yourself."