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Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
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of the senior girls, about seventeen years old, eyes vividly blue and full of curiosity, with a Mona Lisa smile dimpling her cheeks. Though she was dressed in the school uniform—a plain gray round gown without embellishment except for its white lace collar—she had an air about her that didn’t seem quite appropriate for a St. Winnifred’s girl. In short, she didn’t look like one of the converted.
“How do you do?” she said. “I’m Dora Winslet, and I believe you are Mrs. Leyland’s nephew.”
James looked at her outstretched hand and bit back a smile. He didn’t expect a curtsy, but this masculine mode of greeting was highly amusing. They shook hands.
“How do you do?” he said. “I’m James Burnett of Drumore. Yes, Mrs. Leyland is my aunt.” He gestured at the chairs facing the podium. “Shouldn’t you be with the other girls, listening to the speeches?”
“Oh, the headmistress warned me off. I ask too many awkward questions, you see. My job is to wander around and take care of visitors, you know, make myself useful. If there is anything you want to know, you need only ask.”
She was a taking little thing, but a tad precocious. He wasn’t surprised that the headmistress had warned her off. He was searching his mind for a suitably intelligent question that would not make him sound condescending or pompous, when Miss Winslet spoke first.
“Are you acquainted with Miss McBride?”
He was taken aback. “Why do you ask?”
Her dimples flashed. “You look at her a lot. Or is it Mr. Danvers you know?”
He drew in a long, calming breath. “I am not acquainted with Mr. Danvers.” Then cautiously, “Who is he?”
“He is the gentleman on the right and is the son and heir of the chairman of St. Winnifred’s board of governors. You may have heard of them, Danvers and Danvers of Fleet Street? They’re bankers.”
He nodded. The name was familiar, and it had just occurred to him that Danvers Junior looked familiar, too. Had he met him at one of his clubs or seen him at the bank? “Is he on the board of governors, too? Is that why he is here?”
“No. We girls think that he is sweet on Miss McBride.”
His voice rose. “Faith?”
“So you do know Miss McBride!”
He shrugged. “I knew her once, a long time ago. I doubt that she remembers me.” He hoped Miss Winslet would take the hint and drop the subject.
She turned to look in Faith’s direction. “Do you think so?” When she looked up at him, she was wearing her Mona Lisa smile. “Do say you’ll come to our class after the luncheon. We’re translating Herodotus, demonstrating our facility with the language, so to speak, but few parents are interested, so we rarely have visitors. It’s not fair to Miss McBride. She goes to a great deal of trouble to prepare us. You should come out if only to support her, and us girls, too, of course.”
James’s mind was reeling. Faith taught the classics? He’d known, of course, that Faith’s father was a university don, but he hadn’t known that she’d had any interest in his work. He remembered his own university days, when Greek and Latin had bored him to tears. That’s what he’d always told himself. The truth was, he was too lazy to apply himself.
He looked down at Miss Winslet. “How many girls are in Miss McBride’s class?”
“There are only six of us senior girls left, though we started with twice that number. Some people have no stamina.”
“I’m surprised that there are still six of you left.”
She gurgled with laughter. “You wouldn’t say that if I were a boy. We can’t help being horribly clever. That’s why we’re encouraged to take Latin and Greek. Besides, we’ll need them when we go on to university.”
“University? You mean Oxford and Cambridge?”
“Yes. To the women’s colleges. Not that—”
Her words were drowned out by thunderous applause. The speeches were over. “Do say you’ll visit our class,” she begged. “It’s very
“How do you do?” she said. “I’m Dora Winslet, and I believe you are Mrs. Leyland’s nephew.”
James looked at her outstretched hand and bit back a smile. He didn’t expect a curtsy, but this masculine mode of greeting was highly amusing. They shook hands.
“How do you do?” he said. “I’m James Burnett of Drumore. Yes, Mrs. Leyland is my aunt.” He gestured at the chairs facing the podium. “Shouldn’t you be with the other girls, listening to the speeches?”
“Oh, the headmistress warned me off. I ask too many awkward questions, you see. My job is to wander around and take care of visitors, you know, make myself useful. If there is anything you want to know, you need only ask.”
She was a taking little thing, but a tad precocious. He wasn’t surprised that the headmistress had warned her off. He was searching his mind for a suitably intelligent question that would not make him sound condescending or pompous, when Miss Winslet spoke first.
“Are you acquainted with Miss McBride?”
He was taken aback. “Why do you ask?”
Her dimples flashed. “You look at her a lot. Or is it Mr. Danvers you know?”
He drew in a long, calming breath. “I am not acquainted with Mr. Danvers.” Then cautiously, “Who is he?”
“He is the gentleman on the right and is the son and heir of the chairman of St. Winnifred’s board of governors. You may have heard of them, Danvers and Danvers of Fleet Street? They’re bankers.”
He nodded. The name was familiar, and it had just occurred to him that Danvers Junior looked familiar, too. Had he met him at one of his clubs or seen him at the bank? “Is he on the board of governors, too? Is that why he is here?”
“No. We girls think that he is sweet on Miss McBride.”
His voice rose. “Faith?”
“So you do know Miss McBride!”
He shrugged. “I knew her once, a long time ago. I doubt that she remembers me.” He hoped Miss Winslet would take the hint and drop the subject.
She turned to look in Faith’s direction. “Do you think so?” When she looked up at him, she was wearing her Mona Lisa smile. “Do say you’ll come to our class after the luncheon. We’re translating Herodotus, demonstrating our facility with the language, so to speak, but few parents are interested, so we rarely have visitors. It’s not fair to Miss McBride. She goes to a great deal of trouble to prepare us. You should come out if only to support her, and us girls, too, of course.”
James’s mind was reeling. Faith taught the classics? He’d known, of course, that Faith’s father was a university don, but he hadn’t known that she’d had any interest in his work. He remembered his own university days, when Greek and Latin had bored him to tears. That’s what he’d always told himself. The truth was, he was too lazy to apply himself.
He looked down at Miss Winslet. “How many girls are in Miss McBride’s class?”
“There are only six of us senior girls left, though we started with twice that number. Some people have no stamina.”
“I’m surprised that there are still six of you left.”
She gurgled with laughter. “You wouldn’t say that if I were a boy. We can’t help being horribly clever. That’s why we’re encouraged to take Latin and Greek. Besides, we’ll need them when we go on to university.”
“University? You mean Oxford and Cambridge?”
“Yes. To the women’s colleges. Not that—”
Her words were drowned out by thunderous applause. The speeches were over. “Do say you’ll visit our class,” she begged. “It’s very
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