"I am the First Mistress, you know," she told Louis.
Not knowing, he looked politely interested.
"What is called at colleges the Prefect, I believe," she instructed him brightly. "So I shall soon make better acquaintance with your little girl, I hope. What is her name?"
She spoke over Zella's head, but that indignant young lady replied for herself:
My name is Zella de Kervoyou."
"A French name!" exclaimed the nun in a tone of discovery. "But you are not French, my dear child?"
Louis gave a hurried genealogical sketch, and concluded with a renewed reference to the six o'clock train.
Then he looked at Zella's little colourless face, and said eagerly, "Unless you would rather I waited till the eight o'clock, mignonne. I can if you wish it."
"Oh no," said Zella faintly.
"Miss your train!" exclaimed Mother Mary Veronica in shocked accents. "Oh, that would never do! I am sure Zella will be a brave little girl now, and say good-bye without crying."
Zella had felt no inclination to tears, but at the encouraging words, which sounded to her ears extraordinarily unsympathetic, she felt the muscles of her throat contract.
She slipped her hand into her father's, and he looked anxiously at her.
"Shall I stay till eight o'clock?"
"No, don't miss your train, papa. It will be all right."
"Brave little darling!" whispered Louis, squeezing her hand tightly.
Then he made his brief adieux to Mother Mary Veronica, who said in a matter-of-fact way, "Good-bye, Mr. de Kervoyou. We will take care of Zella, and our dear Lord will certainly reward you both for this sacrifice," and then, with determined delicacy, firmly turned her back on them.
Zella went with her father to the hall door, and he kissed her a number of times, but did not even say, " God bless you!" which she had vaguely expected—only, "I will write to you in the train, my pet, so you will get a letter in the morning. Write to me to-morrow if you can."
"Indeed I will."
Then he impulsively gave her all the loose silver in his pockets, told her for the hundredth time that she should come away if she were not happy, kissed her again, and tore himself away.
Zella stood at the door watching her father's figure disappearing rapidly, and then turned into the hall again, feeling utterly forlorn.
Mother Mary Veronica said, "Now, my dear child, you have made your sacrifice very bravely, and I dare say you would like to come to the chapel for a few minutes before meeting your school-fellows at supper. Is your dear father a convert?"
"He is not a Catholic," said Zella, rather embarrassed, "and neither am I."
"Oh!" Mother Mary Veronica looked startled. "You are a Protestant? I did not know that. But you are not sorry to come to the convent, eh?"
"Oh no," said Zella, smiling, her strongest instinct, as ever, being to please.
Mother Mary Veronica looked at once triumphant and knowing, as one who had discovered a valuable secret.
"I see," she repeated, nodding her head. "We must not say too much at present, is that it? You and I will have some little talks later on, when we know one another better, and you must come to me about anything you don't understand."
"Thank you," said Zella prettily, and wondering what on earth she was expected to find which could require an explanation from this simple, foolish woman who seemed to think herself so penetrating.
A bell clanged out, and the nun, abandoning the project of taking Zella to the chapel, suggested that she would like to remove her hat before coming to supper.
"Is it supper-time?" asked Zella, surprised, and looking at her little gold wrist-watch.
The nun also looked at it, and with no approving eye, but she only said:
"Yes; we keep early hours here. Breakfast at half-past seven, dinner at twelve, and supper at six. I expect you are used to different hours in the world."
"I have been a good deal abroad, and meals are at those hours in France and Italy," Zella informed her.
They reached a large cloakroom with pegs all round three of the walls, and a row of washing basins against the fourth.
"Let me see," said Mother Mary Veronica: "you can hang your hat here on this empty peg for to-night. I will find you one to-morrow, and you will have a number, like the others."
Zella saw that against each peg was a little blue-edged label gummed to the wall, and bearing an elaborately inked-in number in Roman figures, surrounded by an ornamental sea of little pen-and-ink flourishes that betrayed a French hand.
"You are in mourning, dear," observed Mother Mary Veronica acutely, after looking from Zella's black hat to her black-and-white check frock.
"Yes, for my mother. She only died a few months ago," said Zella pathetically.
"Poor child!" Mother Mary Veronica took Zella's hand in hers and looked at her pityingly, but after a moment inquired regretfully:
"And your dear mother was not a Catholic, either?"
"No," admitted Zella.
"Ah! Well, our dear Lord is very good," said the nun, shaking her head, and giving an indescribable impression of being too broad-minded to think that Zella's mother need necessarily be looked upon as lost,
They went from the cloakroom down another long passage, and the nun, holding Zella's hand, nearly upset her equilibrium by unexpectedly swooping on to one knee for a moment as they passed a heavy oaken door.
The startled Zella surmised that it must be the entrance to the chapel.
"The chapel is in there, dear," remarked Mother Mary Veronica, hurrying on again. "I am afraid we are late, and the children will have begun supper."
There was little doubt of it, as a clatter of plates and knives and a babel of voices made themselves heard at the far end of the passage.
"They do not talk at meals as a rule, but this is the last night of the Easter holidays."
She opened a door as she spoke, and the clatter immediately became deafening.
"This is our children's refectory," encouragingly observed Mother Mary Veronica to the half-stunned Zella.
It was a long light refectory, with bare boards and white-washed walls. A crucifix at the end of the room hung over a raised wooden dais with a desk and chair on it.
Three long tables ran lengthways along the room, and the benches on either- side of them were occupied by girls in blue serge uniforms and black alpaca aprons.
Another nun was walking up and down the length of the refectory, a rosary dangling from her hand and slipping rapidly through her fingers, in spite of the noise and the vigilant eye which she kept turning from one table to another.
A few of the girls turned round and stared at Zella, but the clamour of voices did not abate, and Mother Mary Veronica articulated a high-pitched introduction.
"Another nun, and exactly like the others!" thought Zella despairingly, as she submitted once more to having her face scratched by the stiff white frilling surrounding the nun's face under her black veil.
"You must want your supper, dear. Come and sit here."
Mother Mary Veronica nodded smilingly at Zella and t went away.
She followed her new guide up the room, and was thankful when a space was found on one of the benches.
"Now, dear, mind you make a good supper," said the nun encouragingly. "Mary McNeill, this is a new pupil; you must look after her."
Zella felt incapable