Now the howl of Master Peter had such a quality that it drew Miss Cass abruptly from her reverie. Her private thoughts were of darkness and eclipse, of battle, murder and sudden death, but the sound of Master Peter and more particularly the sight of him seemed quite to harmonize with them. Master Peter proved just a little too much for Miss Cass in the present state of her nerves.
The reckless Miss Joan did not understand that she had come already to the edge of a sheer precipice. Therefore she gave Master Peter’s hair one final tweak. The voice of Master Peter ascended to heaven. In almost the same instant something snapped in the brooding soul of Miss Cass. Pent-up forces were unsealed. The deep resentments of eleven long and weary days suddenly burst their bonds. Horse, foot and artillery, the new governess fell upon Miss Joan.
At the moment of onset Miss Joan merely wondered what had happened. She seemed to realize vaguely that it was something very unpleasant. As her spectacles flew off and her mouse-colored locks escaped the custody of their puce-colored ribbon, she found herself projected into a new experience. An experience quite surprisingly new. She couldn’t breathe. Her eyeballs seemed to rattle against the back of her ears. And her knees were in continual danger of knocking chips off her chin.
The new governess was small, she might even be said to be “petite,” but she was extraordinarily vigorous, nay she was more than vigorous. She was remarkably strong. Generations of stern self-discipline had curbed the natural spirit of a Berserk, which, all unknown to its possessor, still lurked below the surface. But eleven days, eleven long embittered days of Miss Joan and Master Peter, had unchained primeval forces. The new governess fell upon that child and shook her. She fell upon Miss Joan and shook her until it became a wonder that one breath remained in the small body. It was far from the act of a “lady,” yet it was almost inhumanly exhilarating.
This terrific assault was at its height, and Master Peter, who had decided to join forces against the common foe, was indulging in shrill screams which Miss Joan would have been only too ready to second had she been in a condition to do so, when Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson opened the schoolroom door.
For a moment the fond mother stood mute and rigid, a tragedy queen.
“Miss Cass!”
The voice of hard horror was no longer flutelike.
“Miss Cass!”
It was clear that Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson expected the heavens to fall.