Presently there was the sound of wheels and the sight of the head of the vicar's coachman above the coping of the schoolyard wall.

Then the gates opened and the vicar and his wife and Miss Merewether, her daughter, and Maisie Shepherd appeared and were immediately greeted by curates and teachers.
Maisie Shepherd, a stranger in a strange land, pretty, pink, blushing, hatefully self-conscious, detached herself, after a minute or two, from the group and looked with timid curiosity on the children.

She was a London girl, her head still dancing with the delights of her first season, and she had never been to a Sunday-school treat in her life.
Madge Merewether, her old schoolfellow, had told her she was to help amuse the little girls.

Heaven knew how she was to do it.

Already the unintelligibility of Lancashire speech had filled her with dismay.