As though to verify the words, Madame Elena’s glass door flew open.
“What’s all this noise?” she asked irately. “If you girls think you’re here to make a row——”
Her eye fell on Gina, who had the wisdom to make a visible effort to check her sobs and rise to her feet. Lydia noted, with instinctive approval, that the face she turned to her principal was paler than usual, with black marks under either eye.
“I’m very sorry, I’m sure,” she faltered.
“What’s the matter?”
Gina was silent, gulping.
Madame Elena looked sharply round. Her eye fell on Marguerite, still demurely smoothing out silver paper.
Miss Saxon, less intelligent than Gina, and evidently far less intuitive than the watching Lydia, made the mistake of allowing a very small sneer to show itself upon her little roseleaf face.
Lydia saw Madame Elena’s expression alter.
She laid an authoritative hand upon Gina’s shoulder, and gave her a friendly push.