r holidays: but if she were a
schoolgirl it was strange that she should be travelling alone. Her furs
were old-fashioned and inexpensive, her gray tweed dress plain and
without style, her hat had a home-made air, but from under the short
skirt peeped smart patent-leather shoes with silver buckles and pointed
toes, and there was a glimpse of silk stockings thin as a mere polished
film. A schoolgirl would not be allowed to have such shoes and
stockings, which, in any case, were most unsuited to travelling. (Poor
Mary had not known this, in replacing the convent abominations which had
struck Peter as pathetic; and Mrs. Home-Davis had not troubled to tell
her); nor would a schoolgirl be likely to have delicate gray suede
gloves, with many buttons, or a lace handkerchief like a morsel of
seafoam. These oddities in Mary's toilet, due to her inexperience and
untutored shopping, puzzled her companions; and often, while she
supposed them occupied with the fashions, they were stealing furtive
glances at her clear, saintly profile, the full rose-red lips which
contradicted its austerity, and the sparkling waves of hair meekly drawn
down over the small ears. Her rapt expression, also, piqued their
curiosity.

They were inclined to believe it a pose, put on to attract attention;
and though they could not help acknowledging her beauty, they were far
from sure that she was a person to be approved. At one instant the
mother of the birdlike girl fancied her neighbour a child. The next, she
was sure that the stranger was much more mature than she looked, or
wished to look. And when, on leaving the train at Dover, Mary spoke
French to a young Frenchman in difficulties with an English porter, the
doubting hearts of her fellow-travellers closed against the offender.
With an accent like that, this was certainly not her first trip abroad,
they decided. With raised eyebrows they telegraphed each other that they
would not be surprised if she had an extremely intimate knowledge of
Paris and Parisian ways.

Even the Frenchman she befriended was ungrateful enough not to know
quite what to think of Mary. He raised his hat, and gave her a look of
passionate gratitude, in case anything were to be got by it: but the
deep meaning of the gaze was lost on the lately emancipated Sister Rose.
She blushed, because it happened to be the first time she had ever
spoken to a young man unchaperoned by Lady MacMillan: but she was
regarding him as a fellow-being