Morning came and with it the usual assembly in the hall for prayers after breakfast. From the platform Madame Schakael read, without a word of explanation, the names of every girl who had attended Cora’s spread—save Cora herself—and ordered that they be deprived of recreation, as had Nancy, “for being out of their dormitories after hours.” The blow fell like a thunderclap upon the culprits.
When they filed out of the hall to go to first recitation not one of the girls who had been at Number 30 the night before but scowled deadly hatred at poor Nancy.
It would have been useless for Nancy to point out that she, too, had received the same punishment. Circumstances were against the girl who had practically been turned out of her own room while the party was having a glorious time eating salad, macaroons, ice cream, and various other indigestible combinations of “sweeties.”
Cora Rathmore had escaped. How? Her mates did not stop to investigate that mystery.
If Cora could have explained she did not set about it. Instead, in first recitation, where she sat behind Nancy, she poked her in the back with a needle-like forefinger and hissed:
“You’re a nice one; aren’t you?”
Nancy merely gave her a look, but made no reply.
“Don’t play the innocent. We all know that you went to the Madame and so got square with us.”
“I—did—not!” declared Nancy, sternly.