Then came another infliction. There were not enough pens to go round the class. She sent to Mr. Harby for more. He came in person.
“Not enough pens, Miss Brangwen?” he said, with the smile and calm of exceeding rage against her.
“No, we are six short,” she said, quaking.
“Oh, how is that?” he said, menacingly. Then, looking over the class, he asked:
“How many are there here to-day?”
“Fifty-two,” said Ursula, but he did not take any notice, counting for himself.
“Fifty-two,” he said. “And how many pens are there, Staples?”
Ursula was now silent. He would not heed her if she answered, since he had addressed the monitor.
“That’s a very curious thing,” said Mr. Harby, looking over the silent class with a slight grin of fury. All the childish faces looked up at him blank and exposed.
“A few days ago there were sixty pens for this class—now there are forty-eight. What is forty-eight from sixty, Williams?” There was a sinister suspense in the question. A thin, ferret-faced boy in a sailor suit started up exaggeratedly.