Free And Nothing But the Truth by Kit Pearson Page B

of the apples, observing it so intently that it filled her mind. Then she drew its whole circumference in one long stroke. As she continued, her hands and face and blouse became smudged with black.
    “I can’t start,” said Jane. “I’m too afraid of making a mistake.”
    “Just plunge in, dear,” said Miss Falconer. “There
are
no mistakes! You don’t have to make an exact representation.”
    What would Miss Netherwood think of
that? thought Polly as she gleefully experimented with lines and shading. Beside her, Katherine was pressing so hard she kept breaking her charcoal.
    Once again, Polly forgot about everything but what she was drawing. Once again, her work was heartily praised. At the end of the class, something deep and quiet inside her said she had made the right decision.
    Miss Falconer laughed. “Look at my dirty girls! Go and wash up, and I’ll bring you tea.”
    After they’d dusted their clothes and scrubbed off the charcoal, they sat in front of a fireplace at the far end of the studio. Miss Falconer poured them tea and passed around a plate of buns filled with chocolate. She showed them pictures of charcoal drawings from a book. Polly longed to leaf through the rest of the pages, and the many other volumes of art that filled a bookcase and spilled over the floor.
    “Whom do we have here?” said a booming voice. A man came into the studio. He was bald, with a long, deeply lined face.
    “This is Mr. de Jonge,” said Miss Falconer. “Frans, these are my students from St. Winifred’s—Dottie, Margaret, Jane, Katherine, and Polly.”
    Mr. de Jonge solemnly shook each of their hands.
    “Would you like some tea?” Miss Falconer asked him.
    He poured himself a cup and took two buns, but remained standing. “I’ll take these upstairs. I need to finish this chapter before we go out tonight. I am charmed to meet you, young ladies!” He spoke with an accent, and his hooded eyes showed amusement.
    “Mr. de Jonge is a novelist,” Miss Falconer explained proudly, after he’d left. “His writing room is on the top floor, away from all my messes.”
    No one knew what to say. Finally, Dottie asked, “Does he rent it from you?”
    “Rent?” Miss Falconer laughed merrily. “Oh, no, Mr. de Jonge
lives
here. We’re a couple.”
    Dottie bravely broke the silence. “I hope you don’t think this is rude, Miss Falconer, but why do you have different last names?”
    “Because we’re not married,” said Miss Falconer calmly. “I know that’s bohemian of us, but we’ve never seen the point of marriage.” She paused. “It’s best if you don’t tell Miss Guppy, however. She won’t want her young ladies exposed to such immorality.”
    Dottie grinned and Jane looked nervous. Polly was both shocked and thrilled. This was like one of Aunt Jean’s romantic novels!
    “Don’t worry, Miss Falconer. We won’t say a word,” said Dottie.
    Now they all shared a secret; they gazed at one another with importance.
    “Isn’t she remarkable?” said Dottie on the way home. “I wonder what the day girls will say to their parents. Mine wouldn’t like it, but I just won’t tell them. Will you?”
    “Umm, I don’t know …” said Polly. Noni would definitely disapprove, but perhaps Daddy wouldn’t care.
    “I think Miss Falconer is really brave going against convention like that,” continued Dottie, “and she’s an awfully good teacher. We’re lucky to have her, aren’t we?”
    Polly nodded, feeling as if she had just visited a new and beautiful country.
    Walking through the stone gates of the school felt like passing from summer into winter. Polly trudged up to the dorm to change out of her grimy clothes.
    The other three were sitting on Rhoda’s bed, poring over a photograph album.
    “Hi, Poll!” said Daisy. “Rhoda’s showing us some snaps of her holiday in France. How was art?”
    “What did you
do
there?” asked Rhoda, making a face. “You’re filthy!”
    “Charcoal drawing,” said