be confessed that Miss Minchin stood for a few moments and glared at it. What he had said was quite true. She knew it. She had absolutely no redress. Her show pupil had melted into nothingness, leaving only a friendless, beggared little girl. Such money as she herself had advanced was lost and could not be regained.
And as she stood there breathless under her sense of injury, there fell upon her ears a burst of gay voices from her own sacred room, which had actually been given up to the feast. She could at least stop this.
But as she started toward the door it was opened by Miss Amelia, who, when she caught sight of the changed, angry face, fell back a step in alarm.
"What is the matter, sister?" she ejaculated.
Miss Minchin's voice was almost fierce when she answered:
"Where is Sara Crewe?"
Miss Amelia was bewildered.
"Sara!" she stammered. "Why, she 's with the children in your room, of course."
"Has she a black frock in her sumptuous wardrobe?"—in bitter irony.
"A black frock?" Miss Amelia stammered again. "A black one?"
"She has frocks of every other color. Has she a black one?"
Miss Amelia began to turn pale.
"No—ye-es!" she said. "But it is too short for her. She has only the old black velvet, and she has outgrown it."
