A veiled lady, who has no companion, goes among the company.  It would seem that curiosity and opportunity have never brought her there before.  She has the air of being a little troubled by the sight, and, as she goes the length of the tables, it is with a hesitating step and an uneasy manner.  At length she comes to the refectory of the boys.  They are so much less popular than the girls that it is bare of visitors when she looks in at the doorway.

But just within the doorway, chances to stand, inspecting, an elderly female attendant:  some order of matron or housekeeper.  To whom the lady addresses natural questions:  As, how many boys?  At what age are they usually put out in life?  Do they often take a fancy to the sea?  So, lower and lower in tone until the lady puts the question:  “Which is Walter Wilding?”

Attendant’s head shaken.  Against the rules.

“You know which is Walter Wilding?”

So keenly does the attendant feel the closeness with which the lady’s eyes examine her face, that she keeps her own eyes fast upon the floor, lest by wandering in the right direction they should betray her.

“I know which is Walter Wilding, but it is not my place, ma’am, to tell names to visitors.”

“But you can show me without telling me.”

The lady’s hand moves quietly to the attendant’s hand.  Pause and silence.

“I am going to pass round the tables,” says the lady’s interlocutor, without seeming to address her.  “Follow me with your eyes.  The boy that I stop at and speak to, will not matter to you.  But the boy that I touch, will be Walter Wilding.  Say nothing more to me, and move a little away.”

Quickly acting on the hint, the lady passes on into the room, and looks about her.  After a few moments, the attendant, in a staid official way, walks down outside the line of tables commencing on her left hand.  She goes the whole length of the line, turns, and comes back on the inside.  Very slightly glancing in the lady’s direction, she stops, bends forward, and speaks.  The boy whom she addresses, lifts his head and replies.  Good humouredly and easily, as she listens to what he says, she lays her hand upon the shoulder of the next boy on his right.  That the action may be well noted, she keeps her hand on the shoulder while speaking in return, and pats it twice or thrice before moving away.  She completes her tour of the tables, touching no one else, and passes out by a door at the opposite end of the long room.

Dinner is done, and the lady, too, walks down outside the line of tables commencing on her left hand, goes the whole length of the line, turns, and comes back on the inside.  Other people have strolled in, fortunately for her, and stand sprinkled about.  She lifts her veil, and, stopping at the touched boy, asks how old he is?

“I am twelve, ma’am,” he answers, with his bright eyes fixed on hers.