“I just know what I am going to do,” muttered Bess; but Nan did not hear her.
Elizabeth was impulsive; of late she had shown more strongly than before the influence Nan Sherwood’s character had had upon her own disposition. She felt herself at fault because of the scene that day in German class and Frau Deuseldorf feared she would be blamed for it.
Dr. Beulah Prescott had never seemed like a very harsh person to Bess; but the girl approached the office that evening before supper with some timidity. It had always been a hard thing for Bess Harley to admit that she was wrong in any case; and now, when Dr. Beulah was looking at her quizzically, the girl from Tillbury shrank from the ordeal.
“Miss Elizabeth! you do not often seek my desk, my dear,” said the preceptress pleasantly. “What is it you wish?”
“Oh, Dr. Prescott!” exclaimed Bess, going headlong into the matter as usual. “It’s about Frau Deuseldorf.”
Dr. Prescott’s pretty brows drew together a little; but perhaps it was a puzzled line instead of anger.
“What about your German instructor?” she asked quietly.
“Oh, dear Dr. Prescott! you won’t blame her for that trouble in class to-day—will you? It was I. I did it. I was crocheting instead of attending to the work. And you know how easy it is for her to get excited. Please blame me and not her, Dr. Prescott.”
“My dear child!” gasped the lady, in some surprise. “Perhaps I do not just understand. Sit down here. Now, be quiet, and don’t sob so. Tell me all about it.”
And Bess managed soon to control herself and explain fully her reason for coming to “beg off” for Frau Deuseldorf. The preceptress listened quietly; nor did she smile at Bess Harley’s way of trying to straighten out the affair.