would have detected it. If she had not lifted her eyes to his face so
softly and kept them there so calmly and withdrawn them so quietly, he
would not have said to himself, "She is a LADY," for that word meant a
good deal to the descendant of the courtly Wentworths and the scholarly
Langdons.

"There are strange people everywhere, Mr. Langdon," she said, "and I
don't think our schoolroom is an exception. I am glad you believe in the
force of transmitted tendencies. It would break my heart, if I did not
think that there are faults beyond the reach of everything but God's
special grace. I should die, if I thought that my negligence or
incapacity was alone responsible for the errors and sins of those I have
charge of. Yet there are mysteries I do not know how to account for."
She looked all round the schoolroom, and then said, in a whisper, "Mr.
Langdon, we had a girl that stole, in the school, not long ago. Worse
than that, we had a girl who tried to set us on fire. Children of good
people, both of them. And we have a girl now that frightens me so"--

The door opened, and three misses came in to take their seats: three
types, as it happened, of certain classes, into which it would not have
been difficult to distribute the greater number of the girls in the
school.--Hannah Martin. Fourteen years and three months old.
Short-necked, thick-waisted, round-cheeked, smooth, vacant forehead,
large, dull eyes. Looks good-natured, with little other expression.
Three buns in her bag, and a large apple. Has a habit of attacking her
provisions in school-hours.--Rosa Milburn. Sixteen. Brunette, with a
rare-ripe flush in her cheeks. Color comes and goes easily. Eyes
wandering, apt to be downcast. Moody at times. Said to be passionate,
if irritated. Finished in high relief. Carries shoulders well back and
walks well, as if proud of her woman's life, with a slight rocking