t! People had been surprised enough that she had got engaged.
The Science Mistress would not believe it at first. But nobody had been
as surprised as she. She was thirty. Basil was twenty-five. It had been
a miracle, simply a miracle, to hear him say, as they walked home from
church that very dark night, "You know, somehow or other, I've got fond
of you." And he had taken hold of the end of her ostrich feather boa.
"Passes away from the Listening Ear."

"Repeat! Repeat!" said Miss Meadows. "More expression, girls! Once
more!"

"Fast! Ah, too Fast." The older girls were crimson; some of the younger
ones began to cry. Big spots of rain blew against the windows, and one
could hear the willows whispering, "... not that I do not love you... "

"But, my darling, if you love me," thought Miss Meadows, "I don't mind
how much it is. Love me as little as you like." But she knew he didn't
love her. Not to have cared enough to scratch out that word "disgust,"
so that she couldn't read it! "Soon Autumn yields unto Winter Drear."
She would have to leave the school, too. She could never face the
Science Mistress or the girls after it got known. She would have to
disappear somewhere. "Passes away." The voices began to die, to fade, to
whisper... to vanish...

Suddenly the door opened. A little girl in blue walked fussily up the
aisle, hanging her head, biting her lips, and twisting the silver bangle
on her red little wrist. She came up the steps and stood before Miss
Meadows.

"Well, Monica, what is it?"

"Oh, if you please, Miss Meadows," said the little girl, gasping, "Miss
Wyatt wants to see you in the mistress's room."

"Very well," said Miss Meadows. And she called to the girls, "I shall
put you on your honour to talk quietly while I am away." But they were
too subdued to do anything else. Most of them were blowing their noses.

The corridors were silent and cold; they echoed to Miss Meadows' steps.
The head mistress sat at her desk. For a moment she did not look up. She
was as usual disentangling her eyeglasses, which had got caught in her
lace tie. "Sit down, Miss Meadows," she said very kindly. And then she
picked up a pink envelope from the blotting-pad. "I sent for you just
now because this telegram has come for you."

"A telegram for me, Miss Wyatt?"

Basil! He had committed suicide, decided Miss Meadows. Her hand flew
out, but Miss Wyatt held the telegram back a moment. "I hope it's not
bad news," she said, so m