Annette’s heart went down into the pit of her stomach and then up into her throat.
“I must ask you,” said Mrs. Fender, “to pack up your trunks this evening and to be ready to catch the first train in the morning. I repeat that I am sorry, but it is necessary.”
Annette’s brain reeled. She blurted out:
“What is it! What have I done!”
“Done? What have you done? You can ask that? Miss Folyat!”
“I’ll go, of course. But tell me what it is that I’ve done. I haven’t stolen anything or—or . . .”
“I cannot tell you what it is. It pains me too deeply to think of it. You—you have polluted the mind of my child who was entrusted to your care.”
Annette understood. Deedy had been asking questions. She had been cross-examined, and the gentle art of making mountains out of molehills had been called into play. This sudden presentation of a new aspect of her escapade in swimming in the pool bewildered and crushed her. She could make nothing of it, could hardly grasp what was in the Red Queenish mind, and felt only the futility of saying anything.
“You will pack up your things to-night and be ready to catch the first train in the morning.”
“Certainly.”