It is my belief,' went on Jill, 'that Fraeulein always has a headache when she has a novel to finish.
Mamma does not like her to set me an example of novel-reading, so she is obliged to lock herself in her own room.' I took no notice of this statement, as I rather leaned to this view of the subject myself.

Fraeulein's round placid face and excellent appetite showed no signs of suffering, and her constant plea of a bad headache was only received with any credulity by Aunt Philippa herself; neither Sara nor I had much respect for Fraeulein Sonnenschein, with her thick little figure, and big head covered with flimsy flaxen plaits.

We were both aware of the smooth selfishness of her character, though Sara chose to ignore it for Jill's benefit.

She was industrious, painstaking, and capable of a great deal of dull routine in the way of duties, but she was far too fond of her own comfort, and all the affection of which she was capable was lavished upon her own relatives; she had cared for Sara moderately, but her other pupil, Jill, was a thorn in her side.

So I passed over Fraeulein's headache without comment, and took Jill to task somewhat sharply for the comfortless state of the room.