The clock struck nine and Rosaleen got up.
“I think I’ll go to bed,” she said. “Good-night, Miss Amy!”
Miss Amy answered without looking up.
But when Rosaleen had got into bed and turned out the light, she entered her room without knocking, with that calm authority that at once intimidated and enraged the young girl. And sat down heavily on the cot, making it creak.
“Rosaleen,” she said. “As long as you can’t be trusted to act honourably of your own accord, I shall have to do so for you. I am going to write to the young man and tell him your history.”
Rosaleen gave a little shriek.
“Oh, no!” she cried. “Oh no! You couldn’t be so cruel and horrible!”
Miss Amy was a little alarmed at the emotion she had aroused. She hesitated.
“Then will you tell him yourself?”
“Yes!” Rosaleen said. “Yes! I will!”