"I did—I did! Tell us, Meg—Meg!"
But Meg did not answer. She tore along the passage and up the stairs till she came to a solitary attic. She flung herself down on the floor and hammered the insensate boards with her fists. In her untamed heart she would have wished to wipe the insult from her mother's memory by thus maltreating the painted cheeks of Miss Lister.
When the tea bell rang Meg went downstairs.
"Where are Miss Pinkett and Miss Lister?" asked Miss Reeves, after she had said grace, glancing down the table.
"They have not come down yet from their room, madam," said the attending parlor-maid.
"Miss Lister is dressing up. Miss Beecham was there—she knows," said Laura Harris, who might be relied upon for giving information on the doings of the other girls.
"Miss Beecham knows!" repeated some other voices.
"Miss Lister puts paint on her cheeks," resumed Laura, growing more explicit.
"I hope not!" said Miss Reeves, with an anxious brow, and her eye rested upon Meg.
"I heard it said before by Miss Reeves' young laidees," put in Signora Vallaria, rolling her dark eyes. "Tell, my leetle Meg, what they were doing, the silly young laidees, when they call you in?"