"One thing and another," I returned. "The schoolroom windows
looked out that way--a circumstance which made matters more
comfortable for everybody."
"I should have thought--" began Miss Phyllis, smiling slightly,
but keeping an apprehensive eye on Mrs. Hilary's back.
"Not at all," I interrupted. "My sisters saw us, you see. Well,
of course they entertained an increased respect for me, which was
all right, and a decreased respect for the governess, which was
also all right. We met in the hour allotted to French
lessons--by an undesigned but appropriate coincidence."
"I shall say about thirty-five, Phyllis," called Mrs. Hilary from
the writing table.
"Yes, Cousin Mary," called Miss Phyllis. "Did you meet often,
Mr. Carter?"
"Every evening in the French hour," said I.
"She'll have got over any nonsense by then," called Mrs. Hilary.
"They are often full of it."
"She had remarkably pretty hair," I continued; "very soft it was.
Dear me! I was just twenty."
"How old was she?" asked Miss Phyllis.
"One's first love," said I, "is never any age. Everything went
very well. Happiness was impossible. I was heartbroken, and the
governess was far from happy. Ah, happy, happy times!"
"But you don't seem to have been happy," objected Miss Phyllis.
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