all things or go home, she sat on.
Presently her ear was charmed by Fraulein's slow clear enunciation, her
pure unaspirated North German. It seemed to suit the narrative--and the
narrative was new, vivid and real in this new tongue. She saw presently
the little group of figures talking by the lake and was sorry when
Fraulein's voice ceased.

Solomon Martin was at the piano. Someone handed Miriam a shabby little
paper-backed hymnbook. She fluttered the leaves. All the hymns appeared
to have a little short-lined verse, under each ordinary verse, in small
print. It was in English--she read. She fumbled for the title-page
and then her cheeks flamed with shame, "Moody and Sankey." She was
incredulous, but there it was, clearly enough. What was such a thing
doing here?... Finishing school for the daughters of gentlemen.... She
had never had such a thing in her hands before.... Fraulein could not
know.... She glanced at her, but Fraulein's cavernous mouth was serenely
open and the voices of the girls sang heartily, "Whenhy--cometh.
Whenhy--_com_eth, to _make up_ his _jew_els----" These girls,
Germany, that piano.... What did the English girls think? Had anyone
said anything? Were they chapel? Fearfully, she told them over. No. Judy
might be, and the Martins perhaps, but not Gertrude, nor Jimmie, nor
Millie. How did it happen? What was the German Church? Luther--Lutheran.

She longed for the end.

She glanced through the book--frightful, frightful words and choruses.

The girls were getting on to their knees.

Oh dear, every night. Her elbows sank into soft red plush.

She was to have time for practising--and that English lesson--the
first--Oxford, decisive for--educated people....

Fraulein's calm voice came almost in a whisper, "Vater unser... der Du
bist im Himmel," and the murmuring voices of the girls followed her.

12

Miriam went to bed content, wrapped in music. The theme of Carlo's solo
recurred again and again; and every time it brought something of the
wonderful light--the sense of going forward and forward through space.
She fell asleep somewhere outside the world. No sooner was she asleep
than a voice was saying, "Bonjour, Meece," and her eyes opened on
daylight and Mademoiselle's little night-gowned form minuetting towards
her down the single strip of matting. Her hair, hanging in short
ringlets when released, fell forward round her neck as she bowed--the
slightest dainty inclination, from side to