Then as she fell into step beside Duane she remarked quietly, "I wonder if it's dawned on you yet that we're both of us in a beastly awkward position?"
"Oh, you mean about that wretched key business?" returned Duane, looking bored.
"You know perfectly well I do," said Kitty, rather sharply. "So why pretend otherwise? You know it's between you and me. You didn't lend that key to anyone else, did you?"
"I thought I answered that question at the inquiry."
"Well, don't get your wool off. What I mean is, you didn't tell a lie to shield anyone?"
"No, I certainly did not," replied Duane, still very coldly. "I am not in the habit of telling lies to shield others from the consequences of their own acts. If people wish to do such things they must first make sure they have the courage to face it out afterwards."
Kitty thought to herself that Duane seemed to have nerve enough to face anything, despite, or perhaps because of, her lethargic temperament. But aloud she said, "Only, you see, I know I never touched the wretched balance. I never went near it. And if I didn't, who did?"
By this time they had reached the door of the gym. As she put her last query Kitty turned and faced Duane, looking her straight in the eyes. The head prefect's expression did not change; save for a slight curling of her lip, not a muscle in her face moved.
"What's the good of asking me? I was never clever at guessing riddles," and with that she pushed the gym door open and walked in without taking any further notice of Kitty.
"Failed dismally in the first round between us, Kitty, my child," muttered Kitty to herself. "I didn't get much out of her, did I? And yet, it only makes me more certain that she knows something about it, in spite of her denials. An absolutely innocent girl would have been decent over it and met me half-way. She was hardly polite to me, and our head prefect has such beautiful manners as a rule. Well, she evidently intends to let me pay the piper."