"Oh no," cried Bessie, much amazed. "I have a mother who is not really
my mother, but she is as good as if she were."

"Then she is not like mine. Are women all alike? Hush! there is Miss
Foster at the door--_listening_.... She is gone now; she didn't peep
in.... Tell me, do you hear anything vulgar in my speech?"

"No--it is plain enough." It was a question odd and unexpected, and
Bessie had to think before she answered it.

Her questioner mistook her reflection for hesitation, and seemed
disappointed. "Ah, but you do," said she, "though you don't like to tell
me so. It is provincial, very provincial, Miss Foster admits.... Next
week, when the young ladies come back, I shall wish myself more than
ever with father."

"What for? don't you like school?" Bessie was growing deeply interested
in these random revelations.

"No. How should I? I don't belong to them. Everybody slights me but
madame. Miss Hiloe has set me down as quite _common_. It is so
dreadful!"

Bessie's heart had begun to beat very hard. "Is it?" said she in a tone
of apprehension. "Do they profess to despise you?"

"More than that--they _do_ despise me; they don't know how to scorn me
enough. But you are not _common_, so why should you be afraid? My father
is a master-mariner--John Fricker of Great Yarmouth. What is yours?"