” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. In the pause she realized the attention of the others converged upon her, and that the tears were brimming over her eyes. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. Kneebone! you would greatly oblige me by surrendering yourself. About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the world, and yet by convention ineffably remote. He had the air of a man who has said too much.
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