There was a pure brightness in her brown eyes, a gentle
dignity in her look and bearing, a soft cadence of expectant joy
in her voice. She was womanly in every tone and motion, yet by
no means weak or uncertain. Mistress of herself and of the
house, she ruled her kingdom without an effort. Busied with many
little cares, she bore them lightly. Her spirit overflowed into
the lives around her with delicate sympathy and merry cheer. But
it was in music that her nature found its widest outlet. In the
lengthening evenings of late August she would play from Schumann,
or Chopin, or Grieg, interpreting the vague feelings of
gladness or grief which lie too deep for words. Ballads she
loved, quaint old English and Scotch airs, folk-songs of
Germany, "Come-all-ye's" of Ireland, Canadian chansons. She
sang--not like an angel, but like a woman.

Of the two under-masters in the school, Edward Keene was
the elder. The younger, John Graham, was his opposite in
every respect. Sturdy, fair-haired, plain in the face, he was
essentially an every-day man, devoted to out-of-door sports,
a hard worker, a good player, and a sound sleeper. He came
back to the school, from a fishing-excursion, a few days after my
arrival. I liked the way in which he told of his adventures,
with a little frank boasting, enough to season but not to spoil
the story. I liked the way in which he took hold of his work,
helping to get the school in readiness for the return of the boys
in the middle of September. I liked, more than all, his attitude
to Dorothy Ward. He loved her, clearly enough. When she was in
the room the other people were only accidents to him. Yet there
was nothing of the disappointed suitor in his bearing. He was
cheerful, natural, accepting the situation, giving her the