"It's a most extraordinary thing!" commented Miss Poppleton. "Since the day he left you here, he has never written a line either to me or to you. I don't like the look of it at all. Did he tell you where he was going?"
"Back to Cape Town," replied Gipsy briefly.
"Did he leave you any address?"
"No; he said he would be going up-country into a very wild place, but he would write when he got to the Cape."
"Has he any friends at Cape Town who would know of his whereabouts?"
"Not that I know of."
The barometer of Miss Poppleton's face seemed to fall still lower.
"This won't do at all!" she said, frowning. "When your father brought you, he paid for you up to Christmas, but no more. Now, the rule of this school is that fees must be paid in advance at the beginning of each term. I don't make an exception for anybody. Where are your fees for this term, I should like to know?—to say nothing of the holidays you spent here!"
It was such an utterly unanswerable question that Gipsy did not attempt a reply.
"I had a girl left on my hands like this once before," continued Miss Poppleton, "and I said then it should never happen again. Have you any relations in England?"