Miss Bennett looked as if she could hardly believe her ears. Never in al her experience had a senior girl failed to answer a single question in a test on prepared work.
"Bring your rough book to me, Monica," she ordered and as Monica obeyed, Glenda, who had marked it, turned red to the tips of her ears. The page which Monica presented to Miss Bennett was destitute of anything in the way of history answers, but was decorated instead with a sketch representing a grim-looking female with turned-down mouth, clad in academic gown and seated at a desk, and possibly, though there wasn't much facial resemblance, intended to be Miss Bennett herself. Underneath was printed an inscription, which ran as follows:
"Elle est plaine de bong tay."
Miss Bennett was a very different person to deal with from the meek, dreamy Miss Andrews. She ignored the drawing and asked sternly:
"Why did you not attempt to answer the questions?"
"I couldn't do them," Monica replied.
"Why couldn't you do them? The questions were on work set for your preparation."
"I didn't do the preparation."
Miss Bennett tapped impatiently on the desk with her fingers. "But why didn't you do the preparation? If you were unwell, or had any other reasonable excuse, why didn't you come to me and tell me so?"
Monica gazed doggedly at the floor. "I hadn't an excuse," she muttered. "I didn't do the prep because I didn't want to."