“Impossible. I have just this moment locked her in her room for disobedience and insolence. You are mistaken.”
“Hardly, as you may convince yourself by merely looking.”
Miss Woodhull did look and for a moment felt as though caught in the spell of that mystic night. Beverly Ashby stood laughing and talking with Sally Conant, Aileen and Mrs. Bonnell, as merry a little Tweedle-dum as one could picture. Miss Woodhull caught her eye and motioned her to approach.
“Ye gods and little fishes,” whispered Beverly to Sally as she left the group and went toward Miss Woodhull. That lady’s expression was most forbidding.
“Why are you here?” she demanded icily.
Beverly looked at her innocently as she answered: “I don’t think I quite understand you, Miss Woodhull.”
“Not understand me? Is your intellect impaired? Did I not order you to remain in your room for the remainder of this evening?”
“No, Miss Woodhull.”
Miss Woodhull turned crimson. Such barefaced audacity was unheard of.
“How did you manage to leave the room, may I inquire?”