So one Friday night, my hair was put up in papers, and next morning, I let loose an amazing shower of curls.
The next thing to do was to go off alone, and sit reading in a romantic spot.

Of course I did not expect to meet Lord Mortimer! Miss Fitzallen never had any such expectations.

I was simply going out to read and admire the beauties of nature.

When I had seated myself, in proper attitude, on the gnarled root of an old tree, overhanging a lovely ravine, I proceeded to the reading part of the play, and must of course be too much absorbed to hear the approaching footsteps, to which I listened with bated breath.

So I did not look up when they stopped at my side, or until a pleasant voice said: "Why you look quite romantic, my dear." Then I saw Miss Olever, the head teacher, familiarly called "Sissy Jane." In that real and beautiful presence Miss Fitzallen retired to her old place, and oh, the mortification she left behind her! I looked up, a detected criminal, into the face of her who had brought to me this humiliation, and took _her_ for a model.