The Chalet School and Richenda

“Richenda!”There was no reply, Richenda being not only miles but centuries away as she stood dreamily in the Chinese Room, long, sensitive fingers running lightly over the paste of the vase she held, eyes feasting themselves on the rich red hues of the sang-de-bœuf glaze with which it glowed so gorgeously.“Rich—en—da!”This time it came in a bellow that would not have disgraced one of the famous bulls of Bashan; and this time it penetrated. Richenda started so violently that she came within an ace of dropping the vase. Sheer instinct made her hands tighten their grasp on it, but she had no time to replace it on the shelf whence she had lifted it, for the bellow was followed by the furious irruption of her father into the room, and she was well and truly caught. It was bad enough that she was there at all, seeing that she had been strictly forbidden ever to go there alone. What made it ten times worse was the fact that she was standing there holding his very latest acquired treasure—the valuable Khang-he vase. She had committed a sin in his eyes in being where she was at all. Just what he would think or do about her touching his beloved porcelain, she couldn’t imagine.