She began blandly—
"Agatha, I thought you could read aloud better than that. You are not doing your work justice. Pass me your essay."
"It's Louise's," said Agatha helplessly.
"Ah, I see. And you kindly read it to us for her? It's a pity you didn't understand what you read—but an excuse, of course. Louise must not expect too much."
Agatha flung up her head angrily.
"Oh, I understood it all right. I thought it was silly."
"You did? Read me your own."
"Now?"
"Certainly."
Now Clare, as she corrected and commented upon the weekly essays, did occasionally, if the mood took her, read extracts, humorous chiefly, therefrom; but it had never been customary for a pupil to read her own work aloud. Agatha had the pioneer spirit—but she was no fool. She comprehended that, with Clare inimical, she could climb no higher than the pillory. She fell back upon the tradition of the school.