Happened to be at the Chariot, you know, with Trodger, and it’s review day. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered. Winter came at the manor. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. “I expected to stay with a relation, but I found that their arrangements did not allow of it. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. But—he was cleverer than any of you. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. She had not anticipated such a response from her classmates, but knew to be drawing them with her self-consciousness as if they were bees to pollen. "Because it's not like you," was her answer.
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