Dorothy fumbled in her desk with trembling fingers. She knew she was involved in a most awkward situation. She was very pale as she passed up the book. Miss Tempest opened it and glared first at the "Fair", written plainly in Miss Pitman's handwriting, and then at the embarrassed face of her pupil.
"I should not have thought you would consider it worth while to attempt to deceive me with so palpable a falsehood, Dorothy Greenfield!" she said scornfully.
Dorothy turned all colours. For once her wits deserted her. She could not imagine how to explain the matter. The whole thing had happened so suddenly that there seemed no time to cudgel up a word in self-defence. A groan of indignation passed round the class, which Miss Tempest instantly suppressed.
"Well, what have you to say for yourself, Dorothy? Do you consider such conduct worthy of a girl who was nominated for the Wardenship?"
"Please, Miss Tempest, may I speak?" said a voice at the back; and Alison Clarke stood up, blushing scarlet, but determined to have her say.
"Do you know anything about this, Alison?"
"Yes; it's my fault. We changed exercise books. The one in Dorothy's book marked 'Fair' is really mine, and here is Dorothy's, marked 'Excellent', in my book. If you'll please look at it you'll see it's her own writing—she makes Greek e's, and I never do."
Miss Tempest frowned, but she nevertheless examined the exercise, which a row of eager hands passed up to her.
"Is this Dorothy Greenfield's writing, Miss Pitman?" she asked.
"It certainly has all the characteristics," admitted the Form mistress.