I had already discovered that Alvean had a distinct talent for drawing, and one day, when the opportunity offered itself, I intended to approach Connan TreMellyn about this, for I felt she should be encouraged. I myself could teach her only the rudiments of the art, but I believed she was worthy of a qualified drawing teacher.
The drawings were of faces. I recognised one of myself. It was not bad. Did I really look as prim as that? Not always, I hoped. But perhaps that was how he saw me. There was her father . several of him. He was quite recognisable too. I turned the page and this was covered with girls’ faces. I was not sure who they were meant to be.
Herself? No . that was Gilly, surely. And yet it had a look of herself.
I stared at the page. I was so intent that I did not realise she had leaned across the table until she snatched it away.
” That’s mine,” she said.
” And that,” I retaliated, ” is extremely bad manners.”
” You have no right to pry.”
” My dear child, that paper was in your arthmetic book.”
” Then it had no right to be there.”
” You must take your revenge on the paper,” I said lightly. And then more seriously: ” I do beg of you not to snatch things in that ill-mannered way.”
” I’m sorry,” she murmured still defiantly.
I turned back to the sums, to most of which she had given inaccurate answers. Arithmetic was not one of her best subjects. Perhaps that was why she spent so much of her time drawing faces instead of getting on with her work. Why had she been so annoyed? Why had she drawn those faces which were part Gilly’s, part her own? “
I said: ” Alvean, you will have to work harder at your sums.”
She grunted sullenly.
” You don’t seem to have mastered the rules of practice nor even simple multiplication. Now if your arithmetic were half as good as your drawing I should be very pleased.”
Still she did not answer.
” Why did you not wish me to see the faces you had drawn? I thought some of them quite good.”
Still no answer.
” Particularly,” I went on, ” that one of your father.”
Even at such a time the mention of his name could bring that tender, wistful curve to her lips.
” And those girl’s faces. Do tell me who they were supposed to be you or Gilly?”
The smile froze on her lips. Then she said almost breathlessly : ” Who did you take them for. Miss?”
” Whom,” I corrected gently.
” Whom did you take them for then?”
” Well, let me look at them again.”
She hesitated, then she brought out the paper, and handed it to me;
her eyes were eager.
I studied the faces. I said: ” This one could be either you or Gilly.”
” You think we’re alike then?”
n ” N … no. I hadn’t thought so until this moment.
” And now you do,” she said.
“You are of an age, and there often seems to be a resemblance between young people.”
” I’m not like her!” she cried passionately. ” I’m not like that … idiot.”
” Alvean, you must not use such a word. Don’t you realise that it is extremely unkind?”
” It’s true. But I’m not like her. I won’t have you say it. If you say it again I’ll ask my father to send you away. He will … if I ask him. I only have to ask and you’ll go.”
She was shouting, trying to convince herself of two things, I realised. One that there was not the slightest resemblance between herself and Gilly, and the other that she only had to ask her father for something, and her wishes would be granted.
Why? I asked myself. What was the reason for this vehemence?
There was a shut-in expression on her face.
I said, calmly looking at the watch pinned to my grey cotton bodice: ” You have exactly ten minutes in which to finish your essay.”
I drew the arithmetic book towards me and pretended to give it my attention.
The second incident was even more upsetting.
It had been a moderately peaceful day, which meant that lessons had gone well. I had taken
The drawings were of faces. I recognised one of myself. It was not bad. Did I really look as prim as that? Not always, I hoped. But perhaps that was how he saw me. There was her father . several of him. He was quite recognisable too. I turned the page and this was covered with girls’ faces. I was not sure who they were meant to be.
Herself? No . that was Gilly, surely. And yet it had a look of herself.
I stared at the page. I was so intent that I did not realise she had leaned across the table until she snatched it away.
” That’s mine,” she said.
” And that,” I retaliated, ” is extremely bad manners.”
” You have no right to pry.”
” My dear child, that paper was in your arthmetic book.”
” Then it had no right to be there.”
” You must take your revenge on the paper,” I said lightly. And then more seriously: ” I do beg of you not to snatch things in that ill-mannered way.”
” I’m sorry,” she murmured still defiantly.
I turned back to the sums, to most of which she had given inaccurate answers. Arithmetic was not one of her best subjects. Perhaps that was why she spent so much of her time drawing faces instead of getting on with her work. Why had she been so annoyed? Why had she drawn those faces which were part Gilly’s, part her own? “
I said: ” Alvean, you will have to work harder at your sums.”
She grunted sullenly.
” You don’t seem to have mastered the rules of practice nor even simple multiplication. Now if your arithmetic were half as good as your drawing I should be very pleased.”
Still she did not answer.
” Why did you not wish me to see the faces you had drawn? I thought some of them quite good.”
Still no answer.
” Particularly,” I went on, ” that one of your father.”
Even at such a time the mention of his name could bring that tender, wistful curve to her lips.
” And those girl’s faces. Do tell me who they were supposed to be you or Gilly?”
The smile froze on her lips. Then she said almost breathlessly : ” Who did you take them for. Miss?”
” Whom,” I corrected gently.
” Whom did you take them for then?”
” Well, let me look at them again.”
She hesitated, then she brought out the paper, and handed it to me;
her eyes were eager.
I studied the faces. I said: ” This one could be either you or Gilly.”
” You think we’re alike then?”
n ” N … no. I hadn’t thought so until this moment.
” And now you do,” she said.
“You are of an age, and there often seems to be a resemblance between young people.”
” I’m not like her!” she cried passionately. ” I’m not like that … idiot.”
” Alvean, you must not use such a word. Don’t you realise that it is extremely unkind?”
” It’s true. But I’m not like her. I won’t have you say it. If you say it again I’ll ask my father to send you away. He will … if I ask him. I only have to ask and you’ll go.”
She was shouting, trying to convince herself of two things, I realised. One that there was not the slightest resemblance between herself and Gilly, and the other that she only had to ask her father for something, and her wishes would be granted.
Why? I asked myself. What was the reason for this vehemence?
There was a shut-in expression on her face.
I said, calmly looking at the watch pinned to my grey cotton bodice: ” You have exactly ten minutes in which to finish your essay.”
I drew the arithmetic book towards me and pretended to give it my attention.
The second incident was even more upsetting.
It had been a moderately peaceful day, which meant that lessons had gone well. I had taken
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