The long silence, he had himself to break.
“Well, Miss Pogany, what have you to say?” he asked, his voice less stern, more patient.
Alas! what was there she could say! “Nothing,” she returned desperately.
“Miss Harrow?”
“Nothing, Mr. Meadowcroft,” Rose rejoined promptly and rather pertly.
“Finnemore?”
“No, sir,” said Tommy weakly.
Mr. Meadowcroft stared at them incredulously. Still he wouldn’t give up hope.
“Perhaps one of you has a word of regret for the past or of assurance for the future?” he asked in a lower tone.
With all her heart Betty regretted that it had been necessary—imperative for them thus to steal away from school; yet she didn’t, she couldn’t regret that they had done so—only that they had been caught. That she might have cause to regret to the very last day of her life. There was nothing, therefore, to say, and she sat white and rigid with downcast eyes. As for Tommy, for the nonce he seemed conscious only of a desire for the support and shelter of his own seat in the back of the room. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He dared not drop them lest they indicate how absurdly his knees were shaking; but holding them as he did made him feel like a kangaroo. But even if he had felt like himself he couldn’t express any regrets or assurances while Betty was dumb.