The Unclassed | Page 6

into Miss Rutherford's face.
"May I wait for Ida, please," she asked, "and--and walk home with her?
We go the same way."
"Not to-night, dear; no, not to-night. Ida Starr is in disgrace. She will
not go home just yet. Run away, now, there's a good girl."
Sadly, sadly was the command obeyed, and very slowly did Maud
Enderby walk along the streets homeward, ever turning back to see
whether perchance Ida might not be behind her.
Miss Rutherford ascended to her sitting-room. The culprit was standing
in a corner with her face to the wall.
"Why do you stand so?" asked the teacher gravely, but not very
severely.
"I thought you'd want me to, Miss Rutherford."
"Come here to me, child."
Ida had clearly been crying for a long time, and there was still blood on
her face. She seemed to have made up her mind that the punishment
awaiting her must be dreadful, and she resolved to bear it humbly. She
came up, still holding her hands behind her, and stood with downcast
eyes. The hair which hung down over her shoulders was dark brown,
her eye-brows strongly marked, the eyes themselves rather deep-set.
She wore a pretty plum-coloured dress, with a dainty little apron in
front; her whole appearance bespeaking a certain taste and love of
elegance in the person who had the care of her.
"You will be glad to hear," said Miss Rutherford, "that Harriet's hurt is
not as serious as we feared at first. But she will have to stay at home for
some days."
There was no motion. or reply.
"Do you know that I am quite afraid of you, Ida? I had no idea that you
were so passionate. Had you no thought what harm you might do when
you struck that terrible blow?"
But Ida could not converse; no word was to be got from her.
"You must go home now," went on the schoolmistress after a pause,
"and not come back till I send for you. Tell your mother just what you
have done, and say that I will write to her about you. You understand
what I say, my child?"
The punishment had come upon her. Nothing worse than this had Ida
imagined; nay, nothing so bad. She drew in her breath, her fingers

wreathed themselves violently together behind her back. She half raised
her face, but could not resolve to meet her teacher's eyes. On the
permission to go being repeated, she left the room in silence, descended
the stairs with the slow steps of an old person, dressed herself
mechanically, and went out into the street. Miss Rutherford stood for
some time in profound and troubled thought, then sighed as she
returned to her usual engagements.
The following day was Saturday, and therefore a half-holiday. After
dinner, Miss Rutherford prepared herself for walking, and left home. A
quarter of an hour brought her to a little out-of-the-way thoroughfare
called Boston Street, close to the west side of Regent's Park, and here
she entered a chemist's shop, over which stood the name Smales. A
middle-aged man of very haggard and feeble appearance stood behind
the counter, and his manner to the lady as she addressed him was
painfully subservient. He spoke very little above a whisper, and as
though suffering from a severe sore throat, but it was his natural voice.
"She's better, I thank you, madam; much better, I hope and believe; yes,
much better."
He repeated his words nervously, rubbing his hands together feverishly
the while, and making his eye-brows go up and down in a curious way.
"Might I see her for a few moments?"
"She would be happy, madam, very happy: oh yes, I am sure, very
happy If--if you would have the kindness to come round, yes, round
here, madam, and--and to excuse our poor sitting-room. Thank you,
thank you. Harriet, my dear, Miss Rutherford has had the great, the
very great, goodness to visit you--to visit you personally--yes. I will
leave you, if--if you please--h'm, yes."
He shuffled away in the same distressingly nervous manner, and closed
the door behind him. The schoolmistress found herself in a dark little
parlour, which smelt even more of drugs than the shop itself. The
window looked out into a dirty back-yard, and was almost concealed
with heavy red curtains. As the eyes got accustomed to the dimness,
one observed that the floor was covered with very old oil-cloth, and
that the articles of furniture were few, only the most indispensable, and
all very shabby. Everything seemed to be dusty and musty. The only
approach to an ornament was a framed diploma hanging over the
mantelpiece, certifying that John Alfred Smales was a duly qualified

pharmaceutical chemist. A low fire burned in the grate, and before it, in