When Papa left Rosie at the school, she looked about mutely. The schoolyard was full of girls in similar clothing, but Rosie had never felt so visible. The girls turned to look at her, and whispered to each other. Rosie suddenly realized that she was tall and that her particular shade of blonde was a little out of the ordinary. She had never really thought about it before, but faced with a flock of girls, thick as thieves and intent on measuring her up, these facts seemed to thrust themselves in her face.
A spare figure of a woman, dressed in austere greys and neatly coiffed, paced towards Rosie.
“You are Rose King, yes?” The woman looked down at her so severely that she was quite as intimidating to Rosie as Mama in a temper.
“Y-yes,” said Rosie.
“Yes what?” the woman asked in clipped tones.
“Yes, I’m Rose King,” said Rosie, wondering whether the woman was really as forgetful as all that.
“You will address me as ‘ma’am’ while you are here,” said Mrs. Hibbins.
“Oh,” said Rosie. “All right. Ma’am.”