Mary smiled one of her very queerest smiles, nodded her head with secret satisfaction, and marched on upstairs to her own study.
"Enter!" said Miss Picolet's soft voice in answer to Ruth's timid rap on the panel of the door.
The girl entered and found the little French teacher sewing by the window. Miss Picolet looked up, saw who it was, and welcomed Ruth with a smile.
"I hope you have had a joyful day, Miss Ruth," she said. "Come to the radiator—you are cold."
"I am going to run upstairs in a moment, Mademoiselle," said Ruth, hesitatingly. "But I have a message for you."
"A message for me?" said the lady, in surprise.
"Yes, ma'am."
"From the Preceptress, Ruth?"
"No, Miss Picolet. It—it is a letter that has been given me to be handed to you secretly."
The little teacher's withered cheek flushed and her bright little eyes clouded. By the way one of her hands fluttered over her heart, too, Ruth knew that Miss Picolet was easily frightened.
"A letter for me?" she whispered.
Ruth was unbuttoning her coat and frock to get at the letter. She said:
