One pleasant thing happened. Peter was standing by the window turning over
some fashion papers of an ancient date, when he saw that Miss Monogue was
at his elbow. Now that she was close to him he observed that she looked
thin and delicate; her dress was worn and old-fashioned, she looked as
though she ought to be wrapped up warmly and taken care of--but her eyes
were large and soft and grey, and although her wrists looked strangely
white and sharp through her black dress her hands were beautiful. Her voice
was soft with an Irish brogue lingering pleasantly amongst her words:
"I hope that you will like being here."
"I'm sure I shall," he said, smiling. He felt grateful to her for talking
to him.
"You're very fortunate to have come to Mrs. Brockett's straight away. You
mayn't think so now, because Mrs. Brockett is alarming at first, and we
none of us--" she looked round her with a little laugh--"can strike the
on-looker as very cheerful company. But really Madame has a heart of
gold--you'll find that out in time. She's had a terribly hard time of it
herself, and I believe it's a great struggle to keep things going now. But
she's helped all kinds of people in her time."
Peter looked, with new eyes, at the lady so sternly sewing.
"You don't know," Miss Monogue went on in her soft, pleasant voice, "how
horrible these boarding-houses can be.
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