A
good many of my things seemed to be going into the fire at that time. I
cannot help wondering what they would have done if it had all happened
in the summer, and no fires burning. They would have felt quite
helpless, I imagine.
Father came back just then, but he did not see the Book, which was then
blazing with a very hot red flame. I expected mother to tell him, and I
daresay I should not have been surprised to see my furs follow the book.
I had got into the way of expecting to see things burning that do not
belong in a fireplace. But mother did not tell him.
I have thought over this a great deal, and I beleive that now I
understand. Mother was unjustly putting the blame for everything on this
School, and mother had chosen the School. My father had not been much
impressed by the catalogue. "Too much dancing room and not enough tennis
courts," he had said. This, of course, is my father's opinion. Not mine.
The real reason, then, for mother's silence was that she disliked
confessing that she made a mistake in her choice of a School.
I ate very little Luncheon and my only comfort was my seed pearls. I was
wearing them, for fear the door-bell would ring, and a Letter or flowers
would arrive from H. In that case I felt quite sure that someone, in a
frenzy, would burn the Pearls also.
The afternoon was terrable. It rained solid sheets, and Patrick, the
butler, gave notice three hours after he had recieved his Xmas presents,
on account of not being let off for early mass.
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