"Never mind how," she said.

"Yes or no is all I want from you." "Oh, Francine! Francine! what are you made of! Flesh and blood?
or stone and iron?
Write to me of course--and I will write back again." "Thank you.

Are you going to stay here under the trees ?" "Yes." "All by yourself ?" "All by myself." "With nothing to do ?" "I can think of Cecilia." Francine eyed her with steady attention for a moment.
"Didn't you tell me last night that you were very poor ?" she asked.
"I did." "So poor that you are obliged to earn your own living ?" "Yes." Francine looked at her again.
"I daresay you won't believe me," she said.

"I wish I was you." She turned away irritably, and walked back to the house.
Were there really longings for kindness and love under the surface of this girl's perverse nature?
Or was there nothing to be hoped from a better knowledge of her ?--In place of tender remembrances of Cecilia, these were the perplexing and unwelcome thoughts which the more potent personality of Francine forced upon Emily's mind.
She rose impatiently, and looked at her watch.

When would it be her turn to leave the school, and begin the new life?
Still undecided what to do next, her interest was excited by the appearance of one of the servants on the lawn.