She tied up the packet, and held it in her hand, meditating over it. She half felt as if, in opening it, she had violated a confidence.

‘They are Shirley’s, you see,’ said Henry carelessly.

‘Did you give them to Mr. Moore? She wrote them with Mrs. Pryor, I suppose?’

‘She wrote them in my schoolroom at Sympson Grove, when she lived with us there. Mr. Moore taught her French; it is his native language.’

‘I know.… Was she a good pupil, Henry?’

‘She was a wild, laughing thing, but pleasant to have in the room; she made lesson-time charming. She learned fast—you could hardly tell when or how. French was nothing to her; she spoke it quick—quick, as quick as Mr. Moore himself.’

‘Was she obedient? Did she give trouble?’

‘She gave plenty of trouble, in a way: she was giddy, but I liked her. I’m desperately fond of Shirley.’

‘Desperately fond—you small simpleton! You don’t know what you say.’

‘I am desperately fond of her; she is the light of my eyes. I said so to Mr. Moore last night.’

‘He would reprove you for speaking with exaggeration.’

‘He didn’t. He never reproves and reproves, as girls’ governesses do. He was reading, and he only smiled into his book, and said that if Miss Keeldar was no more than that, she was less than he took her to be, for I was but a dim-eyed, short-sighted little chap. I’m afraid I am a poor unfortunate, Miss Caroline Helstone. I am a cripple, you know.’

‘Never mind, Henry, you are a very nice little fellow; and if God has not given you health and strength, He has given you a good disposition, and an excellent heart and brain.’

‘I shall be despised. I sometimes think both Shirley and you despise me.’

‘Listen, Henry. Generally, I don’t like schoolboys; I have a great horror of them. They seem to me little ruffians, who take an unnatural delight in killing and tormenting birds, and insects, and kittens, and whatever is weaker than themselves. But you are so different; I am quite fond of you. You have almost as much sense as a man (far more, God wot,’ she muttered to herself, ‘than many men). You are fond of reading, and you can talk sensibly about what you read.’

‘I am fond of reading. I know I have sense, and I know I have feeling.’

Miss Keeldar here entered.

‘Henry,’ she said, ‘I have brought your lunch here; I shall prepare it for you myself.’

She placed on the table a glass of new milk, a plate of something which looked not unlike leather, and a utensil which resembled a toasting-fork.

‘What are you two about,’ she continued, ‘ransacking Mr. Moore’s desk?’

‘Looking at your old copy-books,’ returned Caroline.

‘My old copy-books?’