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  CHAPTER XXXII. IN THE GRAY ROOM.

  The house inhabited by Miss Ladd and her pupils had been built, in theearly part of the present century, by a wealthy merchant--proud of hismoney, and eager to distinguish himself as the owner of the largestcountry seat in the neighborhood.

  After his death, Miss Ladd had taken Netherwoods (as the place wascalled), finding her own house insufficient for the accommodation of theincreasing number of her pupils. A lease was granted to her on moderateterms. Netherwoods failed to attract persons of distinction in searchof a country residence. The grounds were beautiful; but no landedproperty--not even a park--was attached to the house. Excepting the fewacres on which the building stood, the surrounding land belonged toa retired naval officer of old family, who resented the attempt of amerchant of low birth to assume the position of a gentleman. No matterwhat proposals might be made to the admiral, he refused them all. Theprivilege of shooting was not one of the attractions offered to tenants;the country presented no facilities for hunting; and the only stream inthe neighborhood was not preserved. In consequence of these drawbacks,the merchant's representatives had to choose between a proposal to useNetherwoods as a lunatic asylum, or to accept as tenant the respectablemistress of a fashionable and prosperous school. They decided in favorof Miss Ladd.

  The contemplated change in Francine's position was accomplished, in thatvast house, without inconvenience. There were rooms unoccupied, evenwhen the limit assigned to the number of pupils had been reached. On there-opening of the school, Francine was offered her choice between tworooms on one of the upper stories, and two rooms on the ground floor.She chose these last.

  Her sitting-room and bedroom, situated at the back of the house,communicated with each other. The sitting-room, ornamented with a prettypaper of delicate gray, and furnished with curtains of the same color,had been accordingly named, "The Gray Room." It had a French window,which opened on the terrace overlooking the garden and the grounds.Some fine old engravings from the grand landscapes of Claude (part of acollection of prints possessed by Miss Ladd's father) hung on the walls.The carpet was in harmony with the curtains; and the furniture wasof light-colored wood, which helped the general effect of subduedbrightness that made the charm of the room. "If you are not happy here,"Miss Ladd said, "I despair of you." And Francine answered, "Yes, it'svery pretty, but I wish it was not so small."

  On the twelfth of August the regular routine of the school was resumed.Alban Morris found two strangers in his class, to fill the vacanciesleft by Emily and Cecilia. Mrs. Ellmother was duly established in hernew place. She produced an unfavorable impression in the servants'hall--not (as the handsome chief housemaid explained) because shewas ugly and old, but because she was "a person who didn't talk." Theprejudice against habitual silence, among the lower order of the people,is almost as inveterate as the prejudice against red hair.

  In the evening, on that first day of renewed studies--while the girlswere in the grounds, after tea--Francine had at last completed thearrangement of her rooms, and had dismissed Mrs. Ellmother (kept hardat work since the morning) to take a little rest. Standing alone at herwindow, the West Indian heiress wondered what she had better do next.She glanced at the girls on the lawn, and decided that they wereunworthy of serious notice, on the part of a person so specially favoredas herself. She turned sidewise, and looked along the length of theterrace. At the far end a tall man was slowly pacing to and fro, withhis head down and his hands in his pockets. Francine recognized the rudedrawing-master, who had torn up his view of the village, after she hadsaved it from being blown into the pond.

  She stepped out on the terrace, and called to him. He stopped, andlooked up.

  "Do you want me?" he called back.

  "Of course I do!"

  She advanced a little to meet him, and offered encouragement under theform of a hard smile. Although his manners might be unpleasant, hehad claims on the indulgence of a young lady, who was at a loss how toemploy her idle time. In the first place, he was a man. In the secondplace, he was not as old as the music-master, or as ugly as thedancing-master. In the third place, he was an admirer of Emily; and theopportunity of trying to shake his allegiance by means of a flirtation,in Emily's absence, was too good an opportunity to be lost.

  "Do you remember how rude you were to me, on the day when youwere sketching in the summer-house?" Francine asked with snappishplayfulness. "I expect you to make yourself agreeable this time--I amgoing to pay you a compliment."

  He waited, with exasperating composure, to hear what the proposedcompliment might be. The furrow between his eyebrows looked deeper thanever. There were signs of secret trouble in that dark face, so grimlyand so resolutely composed. The school, without Emily, presented theseverest trial of endurance that he had encountered, since the day whenhe had been deserted and disgraced by his affianced wife.

  "You are an artist," Francine proceeded, "and therefore a person oftaste. I want to have your opinion of my sitting-room. Criticism isinvited; pray come in."

  He seemed to be unwilling to accept the invitation--then altered hismind, and followed Francine. She had visited Emily; she was perhaps ina fair way to become Emily's friend. He remembered that he had alreadylost an opportunity of studying her character, and--if he saw thenecessity--of warning Emily not to encourage the advances of Miss deSor.

  "Very pretty," he remarked, looking round the room--without appearing tocare for anything in it, except the prints.

  Francine was bent on fascinating him. She raised her eyebrows and liftedher hands, in playful remonstrance. "Do remember it's _my_ room," shesaid, "and take some little interest in it, for _my_ sake!"

  "What do you want me to say?" he asked.

  "Come and sit down by me." She made room for him on the sofa. Her onefavorite aspiration--the longing to excite envy in others--expresseditself in her next words. "Say something pretty," she answered; "say youwould like to have such a room as this."

  "I should like to have your prints," he remarked. "Will that do?"

  "It wouldn't do--from anybody else. Ah, Mr. Morris, I know why you arenot as nice as you might be! You are not happy. The school has lost itsone attraction, in losing our dear Emily. You feel it--I know you feelit." She assisted this expression of sympathy to produce the righteffect by a sigh. "What would I not give to inspire such devotion asyours! I don't envy Emily; I only wish--" She paused in confusion,and opened her fan. "Isn't it pretty?" she said, with an ostentatiousappearance of changing the subject. Alban behaved like a monster; hebegan to talk of the weather.

  "I think this is the hottest day we have had," he said; "no wonder youwant your fan. Netherwoods is an airless place at this season of theyear."

  She controlled her temper. "I do indeed feel the heat," she admitted,with a resignation which gently reproved him; "it is so heavy andoppressive here after Brighton. Perhaps my sad life, far away fromhome and friends, makes me sensitive to trifles. Do you think so, Mr.Morris?"

  The merciless man said he thought it was the situation of the house.

  "Miss Ladd took the place in the spring," he continued; "and onlydiscovered the one objection to it some months afterward. We are in thehighest part of the valley here--but, you see, it's a valley surroundedby hills; and on three sides the hills are near us. All very well inwinter; but in summer I have heard of girls in this school so out ofhealth in the relaxing atmosphere that they have been sent home again."

  Francine suddenly showed an interest in what he was saying. If he hadcared to observe her closely, he might have noticed it.

  "Do you mean that the girls were really ill?" she asked.

  "No. They slept badly--lost appetite--started at trifling noises. Inshort, their nerves were out of order."

  "Did they get well again at home, in another air?"

  "Not a doubt of it," he answered, beginning to get weary of the subject."May I look at your books?"

  Francine's interest in the influence of different atmospheres on healthwas not exhausted yet. "Do
you know where the girls lived when they wereat home?" she inquired.

  "I know where one of them lived. She was the best pupil I ever had--andI remember she lived in Yorkshire." He was so weary of the idlecuriosity--as it appeared to him--which persisted in asking triflingquestions, that he left his seat, and crossed the room. "May I look atyour books?" he repeated.

  "Oh, yes!"

  The conversation was suspended for a while. The lady thought, "I shouldlike to box his ears!" The gentleman thought, "She's only an inquisitivefool after all!" His examination of her books confirmed him in thedelusion that there was really nothing in Francine's character whichrendered it necessary to caution Emily against the advances of her newfriend. Turning away from the book-case, he made the first excuse thatoccurred to him for putting an end to the interview.

  "I must beg you to let me return to my duties, Miss de Sor. I have tocorrect the young ladies' drawings, before they begin again to-morrow."

  Francine's wounded vanity made a last expiring attempt to steal theheart of Emily's lover.

  "You remind me that I have a favor to ask," she said. "I don't attendthe other classes--but I should so like to join _your_ class! May I?"She looked up at him with a languishing appearance of entreaty whichsorely tried Alban's capacity to keep his face in serious order. Heacknowledged the compliment paid to him in studiously commonplace terms,and got a little nearer to the open window. Francine's obstinacy was notconquered yet.

  "My education has been sadly neglected," she continued; "but I have hadsome little instruction in drawing. You will not find me so ignorantas some of the other girls." She waited a little, anticipating a fewcomplimentary words. Alban waited also--in silence. "I shall lookforward with pleasure to my lessons under such an artist as yourself,"she went on, and waited again, and was disappointed again. "Perhaps,"she resumed, "I may become your favorite pupil--Who knows?"

  "Who indeed!"

  It was not much to say, when he spoke at last--but it was enough toencourage Francine. She called him "dear Mr. Morris"; she pleadedfor permission to take her first lesson immediately; she clasped herhands--"Please say Yes!"

  "I can't say Yes, till you have complied with the rules."

  "Are they _your_ rules?"

  Her eyes expressed the readiest submission--in that case. He entirelyfailed to see it: he said they were Miss Ladd's rules--and wished hergood-evening.

  She watched him, walking away down the terrace. How was he paid? Did hereceive a yearly salary, or did he get a little extra money for eachnew pupil who took drawing lessons? In this last case, Francine saw heropportunity of being even with him "You brute! Catch me attending yourclass!"