Alison looked up pleasantly. "Just in time, Marcia, to help solve a mystery, or straighten out a muddle."
Marcia stopped short and her face changed to the stony expression it wore when she was not pleased. "Well," she said, "What can I do about it?"
"Rosalind was here just now," Alison explained patiently. "She came to ask if I knew anything about her essay, which she could not find. I had just found it inside my English book, and we were wondering how it got there. That was all. I thought perhaps you might be able to tell us."
Marcia grew paler than her wont, but she spoke clearly and coldly.
"Why, Rosalind lost her book I suppose, and borrowed yours, and left the essay in it. You know what a careless thing she is."
"No; she never had my book. She had finished her essay and put it away, that same afternoon, when you borrowed my book because she was out, and had left yours in her room."
"I don't know anything about it," said Marcia stolidly. "Are you trying to accuse me of anything?"
"Marcia! You are not in earnest?"
"Well, you seemed to imply it. I didn't think you would mind lending me your book—"
"Of course I didn't, Marcia. You know that."