The next day happened to be very wet; the sky was covered with a heavy curtain of cloud. There was a sea-fog, too, so that even the beautiful, fresh, sparkling Atlantic could not be seen. But the muffled roar of the waves broke on the stillness; otherwise there was no sound.
As Christian dressed she noticed people, looking large and indistinct in the fog, coming to the house and leaving it. Life at Penwerne Manor would go on just the same whether the outside world was foggy or full of sunshine, and whether young girls were happy or miserable. The school was a strict one, and the hours were rigorously employed; the rules were insisted on no matter whether Christian had a headache or not. Nothing short of absolute illness could excuse lessons not being performed.
She rose and went downstairs, feeling as though the weight of centuries were resting on her shoulders. She entered the long preparation-hall where the girls usually assembled when they first went downstairs. There she stood disconsolately near the door. Presently Star, looking bright and breezy and independent, passed her. She went up to Angela Goring, and standing near her, took her hand with an affectionate squeeze. Susan Marsh had not put in appearance.
Presently a teacher entered, looking sleepy and somewhat depressed. She went through the roll-call. Susan Marsh came in at the last moment, just in time to save herself from a bad mark.
The girls then went into the wide, pleasant-looking refectory, where a wholesome breakfast was provided for them. After breakfast came prayers, and then the usual lessons of the day.
Christian felt all the time as though she were living in a dream. So occupied was her mind, and so absolutely miserable and bewildered did she feel, that for the first time since her appearance in the school she disappointed her teachers. There was a special professor who always came on Wednesdays to give the girls recitation and reading lessons. He was a very irascible person, and could not stand any inattention on the part of his pupils. To find a girl like Christian, so intelligent, so full of soul and true appreciation, was like honey and ambrosia to the poor professor. To hear her read, with her pure Saxon accent and her perfect pronunciation, soothed him, he was fond of saying, as though it were the sweetest music.