“You do not deny your fault, then?”
“No,” said the girl, without turning her eyes from the window.
“Who was this gentleman—I should say, who is this gentleman?”
“I really do not know,” said the girl, turning from the window now with a careless look in her eyes, as if of wonder that she should be asked such a question.
“Have you had any epistolary communication?” said Miss Twettenham, sternly.
“Not the slightest,” said the girl, coldly; and then she added, after a pause, “If I had I should not have told you!”
“Miss Perowne!” exclaimed the eldest Miss Twettenham, indignantly.
“Miss Twettenham,” exclaimed the girl, drawing herself up, and with a flash from her dark eyes full of defiance, “you forget that I am no longer a child. It has suited my father’s purpose to have me detained here among school-children until he found a suitable escort for my return to the East; but I am a woman. As to that absurd episode, it is beneath my notice.”
“Beneath your notice!” exclaimed Miss Twettenham, while her sisters looked astounded.
The fair girl laid her hand upon her companion’s arm, but Helen Perowne snatched hers away.