“Light,” Maria replied, looking out of the window.

“Sometimes light children grow dark as they grow older,” said Evelyn.  “I hope he hasn’t.  I like light men better than dark, don’t you, Maria?”

“I don’t like one more than another,” said Maria shortly.

“Of course I know you don’t in one way.  Don’t be so cross,” Evelyn said in a hurt way.  “But almost everybody has an opinion about light and dark men.”

Maria looked out of the window, and Evelyn said no more, but she felt a sorrowful surprise at her sister.  Evelyn was so used to being petted and admired that the slightest rebuff, especially a rebuff from Maria, made her incredulous.  It really seemed to her that Maria must be ill to speak so shortly to her.  Then she remembered poor Professor Lane, and how in all probability Maria was thinking about him this morning, and that made her irritable, and how she, Evelyn, ought to be very patient.  Evelyn was in reality very patient and very slow to take offence.  So she snuggled gently up to her sister, until her slender, red-clad shoulder touched Maria’s, and looked pleasantly around through the car, and again wondered privately about the new principal.

They had a short walk after leaving the car to the academy.  As they turned into the academy grounds, which were quite beautiful with trees and shrubs, a young man was mounting the broad flight of granite steps which led to the main entrance.  Evelyn touched Maria agitatedly on the arm.  “Oh, Maria,” said she.

“What?”

“Is that—­he?”

“I think so.  I saw only his back, but I should think so.  I don’t see what other young man could be going into the building.  It was certainly not the janitor, nor Mr. Hughes” (Mr. Hughes was the music-teacher) replied Maria calmly, although she was pale.

“Oh, if that was he, I think he is splendid,” whispered Evelyn.

Maria said nothing as the two proceeded along the fine gravel walk between hydrangeas, and inverted beech-trees, and symmetrically trimmed firs.

“He is light,” Evelyn said, meditatively.  “I am glad of that.”  As she spoke she put her hand to her head and adjusted her hair, then her hat.  She threw back her shoulders.  She preened herself, innocently and unconsciously, like a little bird.  Maria did not notice it.  She had her own thoughts, and she was using all her power of self-control to conceal her agitation.  It seemed to her as she entered the building as if her secret was written upon her face, as if everybody must read as they ran.  But she removed her coat and hat, and took her place with the other assistants upon the platform in the chapel of the academy where the morning exercises were held.  She spoke to the other teachers, and took her usual seat.  Wollaston was not yet there.  The pupils were flocking into the room, which was picturesque with a dome-shaped ceiling, and really fine frescoed panels on the walls.  Directly opposite the platform