Explore "Scheherazade" by Florence Warden on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
At the table was sitting a matronly lady in black, with a stodgy and inexpressive face. She was writing letters at a neat little morocco desk; and on the entrance of her pupil followed by a good-looking but perfectly unknown gentleman, she drew herself up from her occupation, and rubbed her nose with her ivory-handled pen in evident dismay.
"Dear me! " she ejaculated softly, in tones of abject consternation, "who has she picked up now?"