"I knew what I was doing! How long have you been with me, Henrietta? Twelve years ago, eh? Ah, well, it's longer ago than that. Let me see--she's twenty-eight now, Clare Hartill--and she left me at sixteen. A responsibility, a great responsibility. An orphan--too much money. A difficult child--I spent a lot of time on her, and prayer, too, my dear. Well, I don't regret it now. When I met her at Bournemouth that day--oh, I wasn't pleased with you, Henrietta! It has taken me forty years to build up my school, and I can't be ill two months, but----Well, I made up my mind. I found her at a loose end. I talked to her. She'll take plain speaking from me. I told her she'd had enough of operas and art schools, and literary societies (she's been running round Europe for the last ten years). I told her my difficulty--I told her to come back to me and do a little honest work. Of course she wouldn't hear of it." "Then how did you persuade Miss Hartill?" But Henrietta, raising prim brows, had but drawn back a chuckle from the old woman. "How many types of schoolgirl have you met, Henrietta? Here, under me?" Henrietta fidgeted. The question was an offence. It was not in her department. She had no note of it in her memorandum books. "Really--I can hardly tell you--blondes and brunettes, do you mean? No two girls are quite the same, are they?" But Miss Marsham had not attended. "Just two--that's my experience. The girl from whom you get work by telling her you are sure she can do it--and the girl from whom you get work by telling her you are sure she can't. You'll soon find out which I told Clare Hartill. And now, understand this, Henrietta. There are to be no dissensions. I want Clare Hartill to stay. If she gets engrossed in the work, she will. She won't interfere with you, you'll find. She's too lazy. Get on with her if you can."