"I've come to relieve Sister for a little while," she announced, seating herself by the fire.
Sister Johnstone took the hint, and, saying she would be very glad to go out for half an hour, went away, leaving Miss Duckworth and Marjorie alone in the bungalow.
"Come to the fire, Marjorie," said the mistress. "It's damp and chilly this afternoon, and you look cold sitting by the window."
Marjorie obeyed almost mechanically. She knelt on the rug and spread out her hands to the blaze. She had reached a point of misery when she hardly cared what happened next to her. Two big tears splashed into the fender. Miss Duckworth suddenly put an arm round her.
"I'm sorry you're in trouble, Marjorie. Can't you tell me why you did such a thing? It's so unlike you that I don't understand."
Then somehow Marjorie found herself blurting out the entire story to her form mistress. How she had found the soldier's address at her aunt's, and had written to him in a spirit of sheer patriotism.
Incidentally, and in reply to questioning, the aims and objects of the S.S.O.P. were divulged.
Miss Duckworth could hardly forbear a smile; the real circumstances were so utterly different from what they appeared in the Principal's eyes.
"You've been a very silly child," she said; "so silly that I think you richly deserved to get yourself into a scrape. I'll explain the matter to Mrs. Morrison."
"I'd like her to know, even though I'm to be expelled," groaned Marjorie.