"I've had enough," she said, nodding to Mrs. Freeman in her bright way. "I'm going out into the garden now, to pick some roses.""My dear Bridget!" exclaimed Mrs. Freeman, so surprised by the unexpected apparition that she was actually obliged to rise from her seat and come forward.
"Now, Marshall, what is it? How fussy and important you look!"
She stood for a minute or two, then walked slowly back to the window, out of which her schoolmistress leaned.
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The girls took their places at the table—grace was said, and the meal began."Nonsense, Evelyn. They disobeyed my most stringent orders. Are they not to be blamed for that?"
"Hadn't they got leave to come to meet me?""Well, well," interrupted Janet impatiently, "have your own way, Olive. Make that tiresome, disagreeable girl a female Hercules if you fancy, only cease to talk about her. That is all I have to beg."Notwithstanding her vehement words, some decided pangs of hunger seized her as she saw the tempting food, She remembered, however, that in the old novels heroines in distress had never any appetite, and she resolved to die rather than touch food while she was treated in so disgraceful a manner.
Janet turned away, and Olive was obliged to look out for a fresh companion to attach herself to.
With each fresh study Bridget showed the queer[Pg 36] vagaries of a really clever mind run more or less to seed. She did everything in a dramatic, excitable style—she was all on wires, scarcely ever still, laughing one moment, weeping the next; the school had never known such a time as it underwent during the first week of her residence among them.