"Well—what about it?" asked Phyllis Tressider menacingly.
"Only that—that I can't go on with it. I—I don't think it's quite fair to Miss Burton," said Gerry, finding the task even harder than she had imagined it would be.
"Do you mean to say that you're not going to stick in with the rest of us—that you are going to back out and do her work? Surely you're not going to be a traitor to the form like that?" cried Dorothy.
Poor Gerry looked acutely miserable. She felt Jack's reproachful eyes upon her, and she knew that if she persisted in her present attitude the friendship which was so precious to her, and which seemed at last to be within her grasp, would be dreadfully endangered. For a moment she felt that she could not go on. Why should she give up everything—Jack's friendship, the good opinion of the girls, the happiness of the last few days, and allow herself to be branded as a hopeless prig—all for the sake of a mistress who had shown her nothing but injustice? Then the memory of the red eyes behind Miss Burton's spectacles, the abject misery of the mistress's attitude when she had opened the door of the room, came back to Gerry's mind. Perhaps one girl couldn't do very much towards making things better for the unpopular mistress, but she could at least refrain from making things worse. The words Muriel had said to her in the passage about the hardest way being nearly always the right one, rang in Gerry's ears. There was no doubt in Gerry's mind as to which was the hardest way! For all her timidity Gerry had a curious moral courage of her own, and it seemed to her now that it would be the height of cowardice to give in just to gain the good opinion of her form-mates. A moment more she hesitated while she met Jack's astonished, reproachful gaze. Then conscience triumphed over even that unutterable longing for Jack's friendship.
"I don't want to be a traitor to the form," she said in a low voice, yet clear and distinct enough for all to hear. "But all the same, I can't go on with the strike. I was in Miss Burton's room just now and she had been crying, and I'm sure it was all about us. Whatever the rest of you are going to do, I, for one, shall do Miss Burton's preparation."
"But why, why, why?" cried Jack, starting up impetuously and coming over to Gerry's side. "Don't be a priggish little donkey, Gerry," she added, not unkindly. "You can't stick out when all the rest of us are in it. Hang on a little bit longer. We'll come out top of this struggle, you just see if we don't!"
"I'm sorry," repeated Gerry miserably, "but I can't, Jack. It—it isn't fair to Miss Burton."
"But who wants to be fair to her?" cried Jack impatiently. "Was she fair to you the other morning when she accused you of whispering in class and stuck you in the corner like a baby? Was she fair over taking that chestnut business up to the Head? Don't be a silly little fool, Gerry. Chuck your lot in with the rest of us, and let's get rid of this rotten mistress if we can."
"I'm sorry, Jack, but—but I can't," said Gerry again.
"Oh, Gerry, you can——" began Jack remonstratingly. But Dorothy Pemberton broke in upon her persuasions with an impatient exclamation.