Surprised into amazement, Miriam looked up to consult the face of Jessie Wheeler, the last speaker--a tall flat-figured girl with a strong squarish pale face, hollow cheeks, and firm colourless lips. Was it being a Baptist that made her have such an extraordinary idea? Miriam’s eyes sought refuge from the defiant beam of her sea-blue eyes in the shimmering cloud of her hair. The strangest hair in the school; negroid in its intensity of fuzziness, but saved by its fine mesh. “Don’t you adore kiddies, Miss Henderson?” “I think they’re rather nice,” said Miriam quickly, and returned to her book. “I should jolly well think they were,” said Jessie fervently. “Hope your husband’ll think so too, my dear,” said Polly, getting up. “Oh, of course, I should only have them if the fellow wanted me to.” “You haven’t got a fella yet, madam.” “Of course not, cuckoo. But I shall.” “Plenty of time to think about that.” “Hoo. Fancy never having a fellow. I should go off my nut.” When they had all disappeared Miriam opened the windows. There was still someone moving about in the hall, and as she stood in the instreaming current of damp air looking wearily at the concrete--a girl came into the room. “Can I come in a minute?” she said, advancing to the window. “I want to speak to you,” she pursued when she reached the bay. She stood at Miriam’s side and looked out of the window. Half-turning, Miriam had recognized Grace Broom, one of the elder first-class girls who attended only for a few subjects. She was a dark short-necked girl with thick shoulders; a receding mouth and boldly drawn nose and chin gave her a look of shrewd elderliness. The heavy mass of hair above the broad sweep of her forehead, her heavy frame and flat-footed walk added to this appearance. She wore a high-waisted black serge pinafore dress with black crape vest and sleeves. “Do you mind me speaking to you?” she said in a hot voice. Her black-fringed brown eyes were fixed on the garden railings where people passed by and Miriam never looked. “No,” said Miriam shyly. “You know why we’re in mourning?” Miriam stood silent with beating heart, trying to cope with the increasing invasion. “Our father’s dead.” Hurriedly Miriam noted the superstitious tone in the voice.... This is a family that revels in plumes and hearses. She glanced at the stiff rather full crape sleeve nearest to her and sought about in her mind for help as she said with a blush, “Oh, I see.” “We’ve just moved.” “Oh yes, I see,” said Miriam, glancing fearfully at the heavy scroll of profile and finding it expressive and confused. “We’ve got a house about a quarter as big as where we used to live.” Miriam found it impossible to respond to this confession and still tried desperately to sweep away the sense of the figure so solidly planted at her side. “I’ve asked our aunt if we can ask you to come to tea with us.” “Thank you very much,” said Miriam in one word. “When could you come?”