Silverthorns. Molesworth Mrs.

I hope things will go well to-day,” she said. “I should not like Miss Meredon to think she had got into a bear-garden.”

      “Do you suppose she knows much German, Charlotte?” whispered Gueda. She was a very gentle, unassertive girl, who generally saved herself trouble by allowing Charlotte to settle her opinions for her.

      Charlotte’s rosy lips formed themselves into an unmistakable and rather contemptuous expression of dissent, and Gueda breathed more freely. German was not her own strong point, and she disliked the idea of the new-comer’s criticism on her shortcomings.

      Herr Märklestatter’s smiling face greeted the girls as they entered the room.

      “Good day, young ladies,” he said. “A pleasant morning’s work is before us, I trust,” for he was always particularly sanguine, poor man, after the rest of Sunday. “Ah?” in a tone of courteous inquiry, as the seven maidens were followed by Miss Lloyd escorting the stranger. “A new pupil? I make you welcome, miss,” he went on in his queer English, – hopelessly queer it was, notwithstanding his many years’ residence in England, and his marvellous proficiency in continental languages, – as his eyes rested with pleasure on the sweet flushed face. “You speak German?” he added in that language.