Miss Baxter surveyed them with grim determination as she might have a knotty problem in mathematics. She would not give heed to the small voice within her that counseled care. Miss Baxter never gave heed to anything but her own faultless judgment.
"You," she said, pointing to Phyllis, "are Janet and you,"—she frowned at Janet—"you are Phyllis."
The twins did not reply. They stood before her in respectful silence.
"Now, Janet,"—not being contradicted, Miss Baxter continued with even more certainty—"you, I believe, spoke." She looked at Phyllis.
"I was the one that spoke," Janet said quietly. "I said 'snow.' It is snowing, you know."
"We are not discussing the weather." Miss Baxter tried to silence the room with the weight of her scorn but she failed.
"Very well then, Phyllis, you may report to me after school." She prided herself that the interview had been most successful.
"Where, Miss Baxter?" Phyllis inquired.
Miss Baxter gasped.
"Janet, is it necessary for you to interrupt?"