Work went all the more easily because of the rest she had had, and Dorothy thought the doctor must be something of a wizard to understand so completely what was really best for her. There was more zest in doing to-day, and the hours went so fast that evening came even more quickly than usual.
Jessie Wayne’s foot was still bad, and she had not come up to the study. The other girls had taken her books down to her, and she was given a quiet corner in the prep room of the Lower Fifth; so the three girls were alone upstairs.
Being alone, the chance to find out Dorothy’s position with regard to Rhoda was much too good to be passed by, and sitting at ease in a low chair by the gas fire, Hazel started on her task.
Dorothy listened in silence, and in very real dismay, while they told her what Dora had overheard; but she sat quite still when they had done, making no attempt at clearing the matter up.
“Why don’t you say something, Dorothy?” Hazel’s tone was a trifle sharp, for there was an almost guilty look on Dorothy’s face, as if she were the culprit, and not Rhoda at all.
“There is nothing I can say.” Dorothy wriggled uneasily in her chair, and her hands moved her books in a restless fashion, for she wanted to plunge into work and forget all about the disagreeable thing which always lurked in her mind with regard to Rhoda.
“You do admit you know something which makes Rhoda afraid of you?” persisted Hazel.
“Oh, she need not be afraid of me; I shall not do her any harm.” Dorothy spoke hurriedly. She was afraid of being drawn into some admission which might give away her knowledge of what Rhoda had done.
“I think you ought to tell, Dorothy,” Hazel said. “It is all very well to keep silent because you don’t like to do Rhoda any harm; but when a girl sets out to work such mischief as Rhoda tried to do yesterday, it is quite time something is done to stop her.”
“You can’t call it real proof that Rhoda did give me that knock-out blow yesterday,” said Dorothy slowly. “Or even supposing that she did, you can’t be certain it was anything but an accident. When one is excited—really wrought up, as we all were—there is not much accounting for what happens.”