“I should think you did, Mary Anne. I am glad to hear you do. And Hexam⁠—”

“Says,” Mary Anne went on, “that he is not pleased with his sister, and that his sister won’t be guided by his advice, and persists in being guided by somebody else’s; and that⁠—”

“ Mr. Headstone coming across the garden!” exclaimed Miss Peecher, with a flushed glance at the looking-glass. “You have answered very well, Mary Anne. You are forming an excellent habit of arranging your thoughts clearly. That will do.”

The discreet Mary Anne resumed her seat and her silence, and stitched, and stitched, and was stitching when the schoolmaster’s shadow came in before him, announcing that he might be instantly expected.

“Good evening, Miss Peecher,” he said, pursuing the shadow, and taking its place.