"I put it back on your table that same afternoon. You can testify to finding it there. I haven't seen it since."
"I don't want to 'testify' to anything," said Alison, astonished. "I was only wondering how Rosalind's essay came to be in my book. Please don't think I meant to be personal, Marcia."
"I don't know anything about it," repeated Marcia, "and I'll thank you, Alison Fair, not to be hinting at anything, instead of saying out plainly what you think."
"I wasn't hinting," began Alison, wounded to the verge of tears; but to her relief, Marcia left the room, and she turned to the window, her hands pressed to her eyes, trying to recover her composure enough to think her way out of the tangle.
Entered Joan, excited and curious.
"Alison! We just saw Marcia stalking down the hall, looking like a thundercloud, or a tragedy queen, or something! She wouldn't look at us. Rosalind had just been in to tell us about your finding her essay, she had been mourning as lost. It ought to be a fine one, to cause so much excitement. So when I saw Marcia leaving the room in such offended dignity, I just came to get you to come and tell Kathy and me all about it before we burst with curiosity. You can't deny there's something, when I find you swallowing tears—"
The tears overflowed at the mention of them.
"Oh, Joan, I didn't mean to say anything about it, but since Rosalind has told you—Mind, I'm not accusing Marcia, though she said—she asked if I meant to hint—" Alison choked again.
"Nonsense," said Joan, briskly. "Nobody would think it, unless she had a guilty conscience. I dare say she has. Wait till I call Kathy—or no, you come into our room, and tell us all about it."
An interested audience was assembled in the room across the hall, for Rosalind had not been reticent, and Evelyn, Polly and Rachel were all there to hear what was to be heard. So Alison was obliged to tell the facts of the finding of the essay in her book after it had been borrowed by Marcia.