The shock was so sudden—so unexpected—that Joy Cross grew faint. Every vestige of color died out of her face.
"I don't know what you mean," she said slowly. "What are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about, all right. Do you remember the day two weeks ago when we were out walking and stopped in that queer little book shop? One of the girls wanted to get her Quatre-vingt-treize. You went to another part of the shop—alone. I came up behind you—something had attracted my attention—you didn't see me. I heard you ask for the book—I will not mention the name. I saw the clerk hand it to you—give you your change. Saw the whole transaction with my own eyes! This is no hearsay."
Joy Cross turned round to the piano and hid her face in her hands.
"I haven't words to express my opinion of you, Joy Cross," Annabel went on. "A girl who would put another girl in the position you have put Blue Bonnet Ashe—as honest and innocent a girl as ever drew the breath of life. You're a coward—a miserable—"
Joy turned and threw out her hand beseechingly.
"Wait," she said, "please wait! I want to tell you. I'm all you say, perhaps—but—if you would only listen—"
Annabel had turned away impatiently.
"I didn't mean to hurt Blue Bonnet Ashe—please believe that, Annabel. It was all a mistake—an accident. I thought it would right itself, and I kept still. I did buy the book—I was reading it in my room; some one knocked at the door—I was sitting by Blue Bonnet's bureau—I reached over and laid it in her drawer—just until I opened the door. I meant to take it right out again—but—it was Miss Martin. She was inspecting drawers—she found the book—she—I—oh, can't you see how it was—how it all happened—so quickly? I couldn't think of anything but the disgrace. I wanted to save myself. I wouldn't have cared so much if I hadn't been a Senior. I thought it might keep me from graduating—from some of the honors that I have fought for. I never dreamed it would go so far. I thought—oh, I don't know what I thought—why I did it. I suppose I'm ruined utterly."
She burst into the wildest weeping. Tears sprang to Annabel's own eyes. She was a sympathetic girl. She wished she could bring herself to put her arm round Joy—to give her a word of encouragement—but she couldn't. There was something that repelled her in the convulsed form; the thin body with its narrow, heaving shoulders; the unattractive blond head.