She looked sternly over the tops of her glasses. Then she resumed:
“If I remember correctly, you two were in your night clothes and this young lady was still dressed. Is that right?” She directed her gaze specifically at Sim.
“Yes, Miss Anklon,” Sim answered in a weak voice.
“Perhaps you will explain yourself, then.”
“I never thought it would cause so much trouble,” Sim began. “When I learned that the sophomores didn’t make as much money at the dance as they hoped to, I just decided to go to my father and ask him for it.” She paused uncertainly. “I came to this college, instead of going to some other, because I hope to become—” she paused and then went on—“because the swimming pool looked so lovely in the catalog.” Sim glanced shyly at the dean, whose face betrayed none of her feelings. It was no time to speak of expert diving ambitions.
“That is hardly a reason for coming to college, Miss Westover. But go on with your story. Why were you returning at such a late hour?”
“My father wasn’t where I thought he would be, and I forgot to leave the notes I wrote, explaining my absence and—and——”
Gradually Sim blurted out the whole story, Arden and Terry now and then adding a little to the telling. When Sim finally ended her recital, Miss Anklon was as stony as before. She sat behind her polished desk and looked at the girls more sternly than ever.
“I believe you have told me the truth, Miss Westover, although it seems strange you should be so heedless.” Miss Anklon tapped her desk with a pencil. “You other girls were almost as much to blame as Miss Westover. If anything had happened, you would have been responsible. While you are here in this college we are entrusted with your welfare.”
She paused a moment, looked up at the dark-faced founder as if for inspiration, and continued: