"I shall expect to find some improvement in this 'Impromptu' next week,"
she remarked. "Have you practiced your hour daily? You must take these
bars, which I have marked, separately, and play each twenty times in
succession, slowly at first and then faster, and remember here that it
is the left hand which gives the melody, and the right is only the
accompaniment. I thought you had sufficient music in you to appreciate
that! The way you thumped out those chords was painful. I am not pleased
at all."

Miss Catteral so rarely scolded that Winona felt doubly humiliated. It
was all a part and parcel of the general ill-luck of the day. She
fetched her drawing-board, and went to the art class. Here at least she
would have peace for an hour, though every one of the sixty minutes was
bringing her nearer to her dreaded interview. At four o'clock, with a
horrible sinking feeling in her heart, and a trembling sensation in her
knees, she knocked at the door of the head-mistress's study, and entered
in response to the "Come in!" which followed. Miss Bishop looked up from
some papers, motioned her to a chair, and went on writing for several
minutes. To Winona it seemed worse than waiting at the dentist's. The
suspense was ghastly.

At last the Principal paused, laid down her pen, and blotted her pages.

"Come here, Winona Woodward," she said quietly. "I wish to have a
straight talk with you."

Miss Bishop's eyes were her most striking feature. They were large and
clear, but the pupils were unusually small, appearing mere black specks
in the midst of a wide circle of blue. This peculiarity gave her a