“I asked these girls to come here.” Ellen Seymour turned an unflinching gaze upon the nettled instructor.
“Then you may invite them into one of the dressing rooms for a time. My business with Miss Dean is strictly personal.”
“I am quite willing that my friends should hear whatever you have to say to me.” Marjorie’s brown head lifted itself a trifle higher.
“But I am not willing that they should listen,” snapped Miss Davis.
“Then I must refuse to listen, also,” flashed the quick, but even response.
“This is sheer impudence!” exclaimed Miss Davis. “I sent for you and I insist that you must stay until I give you permission to go. As for these girls——”
“These girls will remain here until Marjorie goes,” put in Ellen, admirably self-controlled. “Everyone of them knows already why you wish to see Marjorie Dean. She knows, too. We have come to defend her. I, for one, say that she shall not be dismissed from the team. Her teammates say the same. It is unfair.”
“Have I said that she was to be dismissed from the team?” demanded Miss Davis, too much irritated to assert her position as teacher. Ellen’s blunt accusation had robbed her of her usual show of dignity.
“Can you say that such was not your intention?” cross-questioned Ellen mercilessly.
Miss Davis could not. She looked the picture of angry guilt. “I shall not answer such an impertinent question,” she fumed. “You are all dismissed.” Privately, she determined to send for Marjorie the next day during school hours.