"Caspar shied at something," she said.Mrs. Freeman and Miss Patience had driven away in a very smart carriage with a pair of horses to meet her.Dorothy shared the same bedroom as Ruth and Olive. Each girl, however, had a compartment to herself, railed in by white dimity curtains, which she could draw or not as she pleased. Dorothy's compartment was the best in the room; it contained a large window looking out over the flower garden, and commanding a good view of the sea. She was very particular about her pretty cubicle, and kept it fresh with flowers, which stood in brackets against the walls.The room was something like a drawing room, with many easy-chairs and tables. Plenty of light streamed in from the lofty windows, and fell upon knickknacks and brackets, on flowers in pots—in short, on the many little possessions which each individual girl had brought to decorate her favorite room.
"Shall I really—how unfortunate; but she doesn't look a bad-tempered woman, and what is there in wishing for fresh eggs? Stale eggs aren't wholesome."
Mrs. Freeman could not help uttering a faint, inward sigh."Very well, if it must be so, but I shall be very miserable, and misery soon makes me ill."
"Nothing in the world could be stupider than French poetry," she muttered. "How am I to get this into my head? What a nuisance Olive is with her stories—she[Pg 46] has disturbed my train of thoughts. Certainly, it's no affair of mine what that detestable wild Irish girl does. I shall always hate her, and whatever happens I can never get myself to tolerate Evelyn. Now, to get back to my poetry. I have determined to win this prize. I won't think of Evelyn and Bridget any more.""And so do I"—"And I"—cried both Ruth and Olive.
"Command me?" said Bridget, her nostrils dilating.Mrs. Freeman could scarcely restrain her impatience.
She had not passed a pleasant morning, however, and this plan scarcely commended itself to her.