Gallilee had said to her. She had heard of reformatory
institutions, and of discreet persons called matrons who managed them.
In her imaginary picture of such places, Mrs. Gallilee's tone and
manner realised, in the strangest way, her idea of a matron speaking to
a penitent.
As she crossed the hall, her thoughts took a new direction. Some
indefinable distrust of the coming time got possession of her. An ugly
model of the Colosseum, in cork, stood on the hall table. She looked at
it absently. "I hope Teresa will come soon," she thought--and turned
away to the stairs.
She ascended slowly; her head drooping, her mind still preoccupied.
Arrived at the first landing, a sound of footsteps disturbed her. She
looked up--and found herself face to face with Mr. Le Frank, leaving
the schoolroom after his music lesson. At that sudden discovery, a cry
of alarm escaped her--the common little scream of a startled woman. Mr.
Le Frank made an elaborately formal bow: he apologised with sternly
stupid emphasis. "I _beg_ your pardon."
Moved by a natural impulse, penitently conscious of those few foolish
words of hers which he had so unfortunately overheard, the poor girl
made an effort to conciliate him. "I have very few friends, Mr. Le
Frank," she said timidly.
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