"Then I pronounce you guilty. You have committed an offence against decency and good taste that I have never known paralleled in the history of this school. Your punishment"—the children held their breath—"must be a matter for consideration. Meanwhile—"
Mr. Pocklington paused, and frowned at Isabel Dinting, who was groping for something in her desk.
"Meanwhile," he continued, having suddenly decided to keep Pip in durance vile until a punishment could be devised in keeping with his crime, "you will be incarcerated—Well, Isabel?"
Isabel Dinting was standing up in her place, with her small countenance flushed and apprehensive, but bravely waving one hand in the air to attract attention. In the other she grasped a rather grubby and bulgy envelope.
"Please, may I speak to Pi—Philip?" she gasped.
Mr. Pocklington was too surprised to be pedantic.
"To Philip? Why, my child?"
"Because—well, because I've got somefing to give him."
"This is hardly the time for an exchange of gifts," remarked Mr. Pocklington severely.
"But may I?" persisted Isabel, with a boldness which surprised herself.