Once Miss Smedley was happily unpacking and chatting with her fellows—Miss Lovelace now, astonishingly, counted among them—Concordia started back down Rook’s Hill to search out Maynard in earnest. Really, this arrangement provided her quite a bit of exercise. She still missed her bicycle, of course. Perhaps in the spring she could afford a second-hand one. She paused to catch her breath and admire the sunset. Even in early December, the expanse of pinks and violets that splashed across the sky and reflected off the buildings was breathtaking.
She jumped when a tall, slim figure came out of the gloom behind her. It was Mrs. Sanbourne, awkwardly carrying canvas, easel, and a wooden box.
“Ah, Miss Wells, how propitious.” She tapped on her box with a paint-stained finger. “Would you mind?”
