The Peri shut out of Paradise was as nothing to the disconcerted girl who stood blankly in the corridor. Poor Gipsy was indeed in a dilemma. It was utterly impossible to open the door and walk in, but in the meantime every minute increased the probability of her absence being detected. There seemed nothing for it but to hang about on the chance that Dilys or Barbara might also return from practising, and that she could persuade one of them to leave the door open, so as to give her the opportunity of entering. But the corridor was not a safe place to wait in. Mistresses or Seniors might very possibly be passing, and would ask awkward questions. It seemed more discreet to retire downstairs, where she might catch Dilys as she came from the library. There was a large cupboard in the hall where the boarders kept some of their outdoor clothes, and here Gipsy took refuge, listening to the five difficult bars of a sonata with which Dilys was wrestling, and wishing her friend's half-hour at the piano might soon expire. As she stood among the coats and waterproofs, peeping out through a small chink of the door, she noticed Miss Poppleton come from the drawing-room, and cross the hall in the direction of the library. Gipsy was in a panic of fright. What account should she give of herself if her retreat were to be discovered? Alarm made her draw her breath sharply, and the action, combined perhaps with some dust or a slight cold—alack! alack!—brought on a terrific and utterly uncontrollable fit of sneezing.
"Ha-chaw! Ha-chaw! Ha-chaw!" issued from the cupboard with horrible distinctness. Miss Poppleton paused for a second, then made an instant dart, and seized the culprit in the very midst of her fourth convulsive gasp.
"Oh, indeed! So it's you, Gipsy Latimer, is it?" said the Principal grimly. "What are you doing here, I should like to know?"
Too much taken aback even to sneeze again, poor Gipsy stood looking the picture of guilt, without volunteering any explanation of her presence in the cupboard. She felt that to do so would only involve her in further difficulties. Miss Poppleton's keen, suspicious eyes seemed to note every detail of her embarrassment.
"You've been out, Gipsy Latimer; it's easy enough to tell that! So you're the one who's been seen every evening in Mansfield Road!"
"Out!" gasped Gipsy, galvanized into speech by the utter falsity of the accusation. "No, indeed! I haven't been out of the house at all."
"It isn't the slightest use denying it," returned Miss Poppleton harshly. "I might have known it would be you. Besides—" (here she began to examine the waterproofs and hats that were hanging upon the hooks), "Oh, you wicked, wicked girl! Here's proof conclusive that you are telling a deliberate untruth! Why, your 'sailor' and your mackintosh are quite wet! Look at them, marked with your name, and try to deceive me if you dare!"
"But, Miss Poppleton, indeed, indeed, you're mistaken!" protested Gipsy with warmth. "If you want proof, look at my shoes—they're not wet."
"You may think you're very clever, but you're not able to blind me! Whose galoshes are these, I should like to know, all muddy and covered with gravel? I suppose you'll pretend your initials are not 'G. L.' Go along immediately to your bedroom. I intend to sift the matter to the bottom. So this is how you repay me for my kindness in keeping you here!"
From Miss Poppleton's point of view the case against poor Gipsy certainly looked extremely black. Apparently she had been caught in the very act of returning from some clandestine excursion, and was leaving her incriminatingly moist garments in the cupboard when she was surprised.