By the time they had reached the statement of these modifications Miriam felt that she knew them quite well. The shortest, who did most of the talking and who had twinkling eyes and crooked pince-nez and soft reddish cheeks and a little red-tipped nose, and whose small coil of sheeny grey hair was pinned askew on the top of her head--stray loops standing out at curious angles--was Miss Jenny, the middle one. The very tall one sitting opposite her, with a delicate wrinkled creamy face and coal-black eyes and a peak of ringletted smooth coal-black hair, was the eldest, Miss Deborah. The other sister, much younger, with neat smooth green-grey hair and a long sad greyish face and faded eyes, was Miss Haddie. They were all three dressed in thin fine black material and had tiny hands and little softly moving feet. What did they think of the trams? “Do you think you could manage it, chickie?” said Mrs. Henderson suddenly. “I think I could.” “No doubt, my dear, oh, no doubt,” said Miss Jenny with a little sound of laughter as she tapped her knee with the pince-nez she had plucked from their rakish perch on the reddened bridge of her nose. “I don’t think I could teach Scripture.” An outbreak of incoherent little sounds and statements from all three taught her that Miss Deborah took the Bible classes of the whole school. “How old is Miriam?” “Just eighteen. She has put up her hair to-day.” “Oh, poor child, she need not have done that.” “She is a _born_ teacher. She used to hold little classes amongst her schoolfellows when she was only eight years old.” Miriam turned sharply to her mother. She was sitting with her tired look--bright eyes, and moist flushed face. How had she heard about the little classes? Had there been little classes? She could not remember them. “She speaks French like a Parisienne.” That was that silly remark made by the woman in the train coming home from Hanover. “Eh--we thought--it was in Germany she was----” “Yes, but I learned more French.” The sisters smiled provisionally. “She shared a room with the mademoiselle.” “Oh--er--hee--hay--perhaps she might speak French with the gels.” “Oh no, I couldn’t _speak_.” There was a tender little laugh. “I don’t know French conversation.” “Well, well.” The sisters brought the discussion to an end by offering twenty pounds a year in return for Miriam’s services, and naming the date of the beginning of the autumn term. 2