Rebecca Lambent appeared to freeze as she glanced at her sister, who also became icy.
“It is very strange,” said the former.
“Quite contrary to our rules, I think, sister,” replied Beatrice, “Are you ready?”
“Yes, dear. Good morning, Miss Thorne.”
“Yes; good morning, Miss Thorne,” said Beatrice; and they swept out of the school together, remaining silent for the first hundred yards or so as they went homeward. “This is very extraordinary, Rebecca,” cried Beatrice at last, speaking with an assumption of horror and astonishment, but with joy in her heart.
“Not at all extraordinary,” said Rebecca. “I am not in the least surprised. Unable to pay over the school pence and deeply in debt to the grocer! I wonder what she owes to the butcher and baker?”
“And the draper!” said Beatrice malignantly. “A schoolmistress flaunting about with a silk parasol! What does a schoolmistress want with a parasol?”
“She is not wax,” said Rebecca. “I rarely use one. And now look here, Beattie; it is all true, then, about that boy.”
“What! Miss Thorne’s brother?”
“Yes; Hazel Thorne’s brother. He was in trouble, then, in London, and fled here, and it seems as if the vice is in the family. Why, it is sheer embezzlement to keep back and spend the school pence. I wonder what Henry will say to his favourite now?”