"Try again, Miss Durand," she said solemnly.

"I came," said Alwynne blankly. "You see, I came----" She paused again.

"Yes, I think I see that," said Clare, as one enlightened.

Alwynne eyed her dubiously. There might or might not have been a twinkle in her colleague's eye. She took heart of grace and began again.

"Miss Hartill, I'm awfully sorry! It was me--I, I mean, I kept the girls. I didn't hear the gong. Really and truly I didn't. Honestly, it was an accident. I thought I ought to come and apologise. Truly, I'm most awfully sorry, quite apart from avoiding getting into a row.

Because I've got into that already."

Clare's lips twitched. Alwynne was built on generous lines. She had a good carriage, could enter a room effectively. Clare had not been unaware of her secure manner. Her present collapse was the more amusing.

Clare was beginning to guess that what Miss Durand did, she did wholeheartedly.

"I expect you're simply wild with me. Miss Vigers said you would be,"

said Alwynne hopelessly.

"Miss Vigers ought to know," said Clare.

There was another pause.

"I'm frightfully sorry," said Alwynne suggestively.

"Are you, Miss Durand?"

"I mean, apart from upsetting you, I'm so savage with myself. One doesn't exactly enjoy making a fool of oneself, does one, Miss Hartill?

You know how it feels. And it's my first post, and I did mean to do it well, and I've only been here six weeks, and I'm in a row with three people already."

"How--three?" said Clare with interest.

"Well--there's you----"

"I think we're settling that," said Clare, with her sudden smile.

"Are we?" Alwynne looked up so warily that Clare laughed outright.

"But the other two, Miss Durand--the other two? This grows interesting."

"Well, you see," Alwynne expanded, "I had an awful row with Miss Vigers--and she's sure to tell Miss Marsham. I suppose I was rude, but she did make me so mad. I don't see that it was her business to come and slang me before my cla.s.s."

"My cla.s.s," corrected Clare.

"I wouldn't have minded you," said Alwynne, lifting ingenuous eyes.

"I'm flattered," murmured Clare.

"Well--you would have understood," said Alwynne with conviction. "But Miss Vigers----I ask you, Miss Hartill, what would be the use of talking about Napoleon to Miss Vigers?"

"I give it up," said Clare promptly.

"There you are!" Alwynne waved her hand triumphantly.

"But, excuse me"--Clare was elaborately respectful--"has Napoleon any traceable connection with the kidnapping of my cla.s.s?"

"Oh, I thought I explained." Alwynne plunged into her story. "You see, I was giving them Elocution--they're learning the _Incident in the French Camp_--you know?"

Clare nodded.

"Well, I thought they were rather more wooden than usual, and I found out that they knew practically nothing about Napoleon!

Marengo--Talleyrand--never heard of 'em! Waterloo, and that he behaved badly to his wife--that's all they knew!"

"The English in a nutsh.e.l.l!" murmured Clare.

"So, of course, I told them all about him, and his life, and t.i.t-bits like the Sevres tea-things, and Madame Sans-gene. They loved it. And I was showing them pictures and I suppose we got absorbed. You can't help it with Napoleon, somehow. Oh, Miss Hartill, doesn't it seem crazy, though, to keep those children at Latin exercises, and the exports of Lower Tooting, and Bills of Attainder in the reign of Queen Anne, before they know about things like Napoleon, and Homer, and the Panama Ca.n.a.l?

Wouldn't you rather know about the life of Buddha than the war of Jenkins's ear? Not that I ever got to the Georges myself! Oh, it makes me so wild! It's like stuffing them with pea-nuts, when one has got a basket of peaches on one's arm. It isn't education! It's goose-cramming!

I can't explain properly what I mean. I expect you think I'm a fool!"

"An enthusiast. It's much the same," said Clare absently. "You'll get over it." Then, with a twinkle: "Reform's an excellent thing, of course--but why annex my cla.s.s to experiment with?"

Alwynne defervesced.

There was an unhappy pause.

"You know, I'm most awfully sorry," said Alwynne at last, as one making a brilliant and original contribution to the discussion.

A piercing shriek from the kitchen interrupted them. Alwynne jumped, but Clare was undisturbed.

"It's only Bagot. She's always having accidents. But she's an excellent cook. After all, what's a shilling's worth of crockery a week compared with a good cook? But to return to Napoleon and the Lower Third----"

"You don't think she's hurt herself?" Alwynne ventured to interrupt.

"She did squeal."

Clare looked suddenly concerned.

"I hope not. I haven't had lunch yet."

She went to the kitchen door, reappearing with a slightly harried air.

"Miss Durand, I wish you'd come here a minute. She's cut her hand. Oh, lavishly! Most careless! What is one to do? I suppose one must bandage it?"

Her tone of helpless disgust was so genuine that Alwynne was inclined to laugh. So there were circ.u.mstances that could be too much even for Miss Hartill! How rea.s.suring! And how it warmed the c.o.c.kles of one's heart to her! Her lips twitched mischievously as she looked from the disconcerted mistress to the sniffing maid, but she lost no time in stripping off her gloves and setting to work, issuing orders the while that Clare obeyed with a meekness that surprised herself.

"Linen, please, Miss Hartill, or old rags! It's rather a bad cut." Then, to the maid, "How on earth did you do it? A tin-opener? No, no, Miss Hartill! a duster's no good. An old handkerchief or something." She was achieving complicated effects with a fork and a knotted scarf as she spoke, and Clare, obediently tearing linen into strips, considered her critically. The girl was capable then, as well as amusing.... That tourniquet might not be professional, but it was at least effective....

The bleeding was stopping.... Very good of her to toil over Bagot's unappetising hand.... Clare marvelled at her unconcern, for she was dainty enough in her own person to please even Clare's fastidious eye.

Clare supposed that it was a good thing that some people had the nursing instinct.... She thanked her stars that she herself had not....

Alwynne, unconscious of scrutiny, put in her final safety-pin, settled the sling and stepped back at last, surveying her handiwork with some pride.

"It'll want a st.i.tch, though. She'd better go to the doctor, I think,"