Chapter 18

           Thenextday,afterlessons,Mrs.Grosefoundamomenttosaytomequietly:“Haveyouwritten,miss?”

           “Yes—I’vewritten.”ButIdidn’tadd—forthehour—thatmyletter,sealedanddirected,wasstillinmypocket.Therewouldbetimeenoughtosenditbeforethemessengershouldgotothevillage.Meanwhiletherehadbeen,onthepartofmypupils,nomorebrilliant,moreexemplarymorning.Itwasexactlyasiftheyhadbothhadathearttoglossoveranyrecentlittlefriction.Theyperformedthedizziestfeatsofarithmetic,soaringquiteoutofmyfeeblerange,andperpetrated,inhigherspiritsthanever,geographicalandhistoricaljokes.ItwasconspicuousofcourseinMilesinparticularthatheappearedtowishtoshowhoweasilyhecouldletmedown.Thischild,tomymemory,reallylivesinasettingofbeautyandmiserythatnowordscantranslate;therewasadistinctionallhisownineveryimpulseherevealed;neverwasasmallnaturalcreature,totheuninitiatedeyeallfranknessandfreedom,amoreingenious,amoreextraordinarylittlegentleman.Ihadperpetuallytoguardagainstthewonderofcontemplationintowhichmyinitiatedviewbetrayedme;tochecktheirrelevantgazeanddiscouragedsighinwhichIconstantlybothattackedandrenouncedtheenigmaofwhatsuchalittlegentlemancouldhavedonethatdeservedapenalty.Saythat,bythedarkprodigyIknew,theimaginationofallevilhadbeenopeneduptohim:allthejusticewithinmeachedfortheproofthatitcouldeverhavefloweredintoanact.