as not to be to an American, but to a Frenchman, because
Frenchmen had "family" and "blood," or perhaps to an Englishman, if he
was a member of the House of Lords, in which case she would attend all
the race-meetings and Coronations, and take tea at the Carlton, where
she would eat _meringues glaces_ every day and have as many _eclairs_ as
she liked.

And sometimes she would tell us the stories of the novels which she
bribed one of the washing-women to smuggle into the convent--stories of
ladies and their lovers, and of intoxicating dreams of kissing and
fondling, at which the bigger girls, with far-off suggestions of sexual
mysteries still unexplored, would laugh and shudder, and then Alma would
say:

"But hush, girls! Margaret Mary will be shocked."

Occasionally these conferences would be interrupted by Mildred's voice
from the other end of the dormitory, where she would raise her head from
her pillow and say:

"Alma Lier, you ought to be ashamed of yourself--keeping that child up
when she ought to be asleep, instead of listening to your wicked
stories."

"Helloa, Mother Mildred, is that you?" Alma would answer, and then the
girls would laugh, and Mildred was supposed to be covered with
confusion.

One night Sister Angela's footsteps were heard on the stairs, and then
the girls flew back to their beds, where, with the furtive instinct of
their age and sex, they pretended to be sleeping soundly when the Sister
entered the room. But the Sister was not deceived, and walking up the
aisle between the beds she said in an angry tone:

"Alma Lier, if this ever occurs again I'll step down to the Reverend
Mother and tell her all about you."

Little as I was, I saw that between Alma and Sister Angela there was a
secret feud, which must soon break into open rupture, but for my own
part I was entirely happy, being still proud of Alma's protection and
only feeling any misgivings when Mildred's melancholy eyes were looking
at me.

Thus week followed week until we were close upon Christmas, and the
girls, who were to be permitted to go home before the Feast, began to
count the days to the holidays. I counted them too, and when anybody
talked of her brother I thought of Martin Conrad, though his faithful
little figure was fading away from me, and when anybody spoke of her
parents I remembered my mother, for whom my affection never failed.

But, within a week from the time for breaking up, the Reverend Mother
sent for me