So Bertha, in the interview that passed between the three girls, had paved the way by explaining that Erica was in trouble and wanted Duane's advice, but she must first promise not to say a word to anyone else. Duane, never dreaming what the trouble really was and thinking it was just some childish scrape Erica had been inveigled into, gave her word. Even she could not conceal her amazement and dismay when she heard the "confession." She was troubled and perplexed, more so than she had ever been in her life before, and did not know what she ought to do for the best. She tried to persuade the child to go to the Principal and confess, pointing out that Miss St. Leger could be trusted to understand and would not be harsh on her. Erica, however, in her over-wrought state, could not credit this.
On the other hand, Bertha, too, was fiercely determined that, if possible, it should never be known, pointing out that Erica was but a child and had not realized what she was doing, and that in time the whole affair would die down and be forgotten.
"It was Bertha's influence against mine," Duane explained, "and of course, Bertha's was the stronger."
Duane, moved by the pitifulness of the child's shrinking fear and whole-souled repentance to a tenderness which, in spite of all her faults, she was evidently capable of feeling, tried to comfort her, resolving that if Erica could not summon sufficient moral courage to confess, and if she felt happier in the knowledge that her wrong-doing would never become public, she, Duane, would help keep the secret.
The next day had been passed in the visit to the vicar's house, and Duane had heard nothing of the scene in the sports field, and the feeling against Kitty that had arisen.
On her return she had hurried straight from an interview with Miss Carslake to Paddy's mock trial, entering late and just in time to hear the charge against Kitty.
"I thought, of course," she explained, "that it was a deadly earnest affair, and I was so horror-struck that for once I lost my head completely. I don't know what I blurted out—something to the effect that I knew for certain Kitty had not done it——"
"In such a manner as to convince everyone that you were the conscience-stricken culprit yourself," finished off Miss St. Leger. "That was it, was it not?"
"Yes," admitted Duane. "Afterwards I knew I had made an ass of myself. Still, in a way I was glad, for if the girls had gone on believing Kitty guilty, it would have put me in an awful hole, knowing all the time that she wasn't. So I consoled myself with the reflection that it was all for the best."
"And were content to shield someone else at your own expense," said Miss St. Leger bluntly.