eagerly like those of a hungry boy.

"Some of your scholars sick?" inquired Ted.

"Two--and one away. So I'm to have a whole beautiful afternoon, though I
may have to see them Wednesday to make up. I am a teacher in Miss
Copeland's private school," she explained to Richard as simply as one of
the young women he knew would have explained. "I have singing lessons of
Servensky."

This gave the young man food for thought, in which he indulged while
Miss Roberta Gray told Ted of an encounter she had had that morning with
a special friend of his own. This daughter of a distinguished man--of a
family not so rich as his own, but still of considerable wealth and
unquestionably high social position--was a teacher in a school for
girls; a most exclusive school, of course--he knew the one very
well--but still in a school and for a salary. To Richard the thing was
strange enough. She must surely do it from choice, not from necessity;
but why from choice? With her face and her charm--he felt the charm
already; it radiated from her--why should she want to tie herself down
to a dull round of duty like that instead of giving her thoughts to the
things girls of her position usually cared for? Taking into
consideration the statement Ted had lately made about his elder brother,
it struck Richard Kendrick that this must be a family of rather
eccentric notions. Somewhat to his surprise he discovered that the idea
interested him. He had found people of his own acquaintance tiresomely
alike; he congratulated himself on having met somebody who seemed likely
to prove different.

"So you rejoice in your half-holiday, Miss Gray," Richard observed when