CHAPTER IV

Margot at A girls’ school—­who spilt the ink?—­The engine driver’s mistaken flirtation—­Margot leaves school in disgust—­ decides to go to Germany to study

Although I did not do much thinking over my education, others did it for me.

I had been well grounded by a series of short-stayed governesses in the Druids and woad, in Alfred and the cakes, Romulus and Remus and Bruce and the spider.  I could speak French well and German a little; and I knew a great deal of every kind of literature from Tristram Shandy and The Antiquary to Under Two Flags and The Grammarian’s Funeral; but the governesses had been failures and, when Lucy married, my mother decided that Laura and I should go to school.

Mademoiselle de Mennecy—­a Frenchwoman of ill-temper and a lively mind—­had opened a hyper-refined seminary in Gloucester Crescent, where she undertook to “finish” twelve young ladies.  My father had a horror of girls’ schools (and if he could “get through”—­to use the orthodox expression of the spookists—­he would find all his opinions on this subject more than justified by the manners, morals and learning of the young ladies of the present day) but as it was a question of only a few months he waived his objection.

No. 7 Gloucester Crescent looked down on the Great Western Railway; the lowing of cows, the bleating of sheep and sudden shrill whistles and other odd sounds kept me awake, and my bed rocked and trembled as the vigorous trains passed at uncertain intervals all through the night.  This, combined with sticky food, was more than Laura could bear and she had no difficulty in persuading my papa that if she were to stay longer than one week her health would certainly suffer.  I was much upset when she left me, but faintly consoled by receiving permission to ride in the Row three times a week; Mlle. de Mennecy thought my beautiful hack gave prestige to her front door and raised no objections.

Sitting alone in the horsehair schoolroom, with a French patent-leather Bible in my hands, surrounded by eleven young ladies, made my heart sink.  “Et le roi David deplut a l’ Eternel,” I heard in a broad Scotch accent; and for the first time I looked closely at my stable companions.

Mlle. de Mennecy allowed no one to argue with her; and our first little brush took place after she informed me of this fact.

“But in that case, mademoiselle,” said I, “how are any of us to learn anything?  I don’t know how much the others know, but I know nothing except what I’ve read; so, unless I ask questions, how am I to learn?”

Mlle. De Mennecy:  “Je ne vous ai jamais defendu de me questionner; vous n’ecoutez pas, mademoiselle.  J’ai dit qu’il ne fallait pas discuter avec moi.”