g horrified, terrified, and disgusted him. It was all so
dreary, the horrible weather outside, the beginning of a cold in his
head, the schoolroom fire almost out, everyone's bad temper, including
his own, and this sudden horrible jumping-to-life of a grown-up human
being. She, meanwhile, was too deeply involved now in the waters of her
affliction to care very deeply who saw her or what anyone said to her.
She did feel dimly that she ought not to be crying in front of a small
boy of eight years old, and that it would be better to hide herself in
her bedroom, but she did not mind--she COULD not mind--her neuralgia was
too bad.

"It's the neuralgia in my head," she said in a muffled confused voice.
That he could understand. He also had pains in his head. He drew closer
to her, flinging a longing backward look at the door. She went on in
convulsed tones:

"It's the pain--awake all night, and the lessons. I can't make them
attend; they learn nothing. They're not afraid of me--they hate me. I've
never really known children before--"

He did not know what to say. Had it been Mary or Helen the formula would
have been simple. He moved his legs restlessly one against the other.

Miss Jones went on:

"And now, of course, I must go. It's quite impossible for me to stay
when I manage so badly--" She looked up and suddenly realised that it
was truly Jeremy. "You're only a little boy, but you know very well that
I can't manage you. And then where am I to go to? No one will take me
after I've been such a failure."

The colour stole into his cheeks. He was immensely proud. No grown-up
person had ever before spoken to him as though he was himself a grown-up
person--always laughing at him like Uncle Samuel, or talking down to
him like Aunt Amy, or despising him like Mr. Jellybrand. But Miss Jones
appealed to him simply as one grown-up to another. Unfortunately he did
not in the least know what to say. The only thing he could think of at
the moment was: "You can have my handkerchief, if you like. It's pretty
clean--"

But she went on: "If my brother had been alive he would have advised
me. He was a splendid man. He rowed in his college boat when he was
at Cambridge, but that, of course, was forty years ago. He could keep
children in order. I thought it would be so easy. Perhaps if my health
had been better it wouldn't have been so hard."

"Do your pains come often?" asked Jeremy.

"Yes. They're very bad."

"I have them, too,"