Miss Winchelsea crushed the letter in her hand—­the rest unread—­and sat with her face suddenly very still.  She had received it just before morning school, and had opened it when the junior mathematicians were well under way.  Presently she resumed reading with an appearance of great calm.  But after the first sheet she went on reading the third without discovering the error:—­“told him frankly I did not like his name,” the third sheet began.  “He told me he did not like it himself—­you know that sort of sudden, frank way he has”—­Miss Winchelsea did know.  “So I said, ’couldn’t you change it?’ He didn’t see it at first.  Well, you know, dear, he had told me what it really meant; it means Sevenoaks, only it has got down to Snooks—­both Snooks and Noaks, dreadfully vulgar surnames though they be, are really worn forms of Sevenoaks.  So I said—­even I have my bright ideas at times—­’If it got down from Sevenoaks to Snooks, why not get it back from Snooks to Sevenoaks?’ And the long and the short of it is, dear, he couldn’t refuse me, and he changed his spelling there and then to Senoks for the bills of the new lecture.  And afterwards, when we are married, we shall put in the apostrophe and make it Se’noks.  Wasn’t it kind of him to mind that fancy of mine, when many men would have taken offence?  But it is just like him all over; he is as kind as he is clever.  Because he knew as well as I did that I would have had him in spite of it, had he been ten times Snooks.  But he did it all the same.”

The class was startled by the sound of paper being viciously torn, and looked up to see Miss Winchelsea white in the face and with some very small pieces of paper clenched in one hand.  For a few seconds they stared at her stare, and then her expression changed back to a more familiar one.  “Has any one finished number three?” she asked in an even tone.  She remained calm after that.  But impositions ruled high that day.  And she spent two laborious evenings writing letters of various sorts to Fanny, before she found a decent congratulatory vein.  Her reason struggled hopelessly against the persuasion that Fanny had behaved in an exceedingly treacherous manner.

One may be extremely refined and still capable of a very sore heart.  Certainly Miss Winchelsea’s heart was very sore.  She had moods of sexual hostility, in which she generalised uncharitably about mankind.  “He forgot himself with me,” she said.  “But Fanny is pink and pretty and soft and a fool—­a very excellent match for a Man.”  And by way of a wedding present she sent Fanny a gracefully bound volume of poetry by George Meredith, and Fanny wrote back a grossly happy letter to say that it was “all beautiful.”  Miss Winchelsea hoped that some day Mr. Senoks might take up that slim book and think for a moment of the donor.  Fanny wrote several times before and about her marriage, pursuing that fond legend of their “ancient friendship,” and giving her happiness in the fullest detail.  And Miss Winchelsea wrote to Helen for the first time after the Roman journey, saying nothing about the marriage, but expressing very cordial feelings.