“How can Rosalind do them? I am awfully sorry—indeed, I am disgusted—but the facts are too plain.” Miss Day then in a few eager whispers, which Maggie in vain endeavoured to suppress, gave her chain of evidence. Rosalind’s distress; her passionate desire to keep the coral; her entreaties that Miss Day would lend her four guineas; her assurances that she had not a penny in the world to pay her debt; her fears that it was utterly useless for her to expect the money from her mother. Then the curious fact that, on that very same evening, Polly Singleton should have been given a five-pound note by her. “There is not the least doubt,” concluded Miss Day, “that Rosalind must have gone into your room, Miss Oliphant, and stolen the note while Priscilla was absent. You know Miss Peel said that she did leave your room for a moment or two to fetch her Lexicon. Rosalind must have seized the opportunity; there cannot be a doubt of it.”
Maggie’s face turned white; her eyes were full of indignation and horror.
“Something must be done,” continued Annie. “I am no prude, but I draw the line at thieves. Miss Merton ought to be expelled; she is not fit to speak to one of us.”
“The affair is mine,” said Maggie, after a pause. “You must let me deal with it.”
“Will you?”
“I certainly will.”
“To-night?”
“I cannot say; I must think. The whole thing is terrible, it upsets me.”
“I thought you would feel it. I am a good bit upset myself, and so is Lucy Marsh.”
“Does Miss Marsh know, too? In that case, Miss Day, it will, I fear, be my duty to consult Miss Heath. Oh, I must think; I can do nothing hastily. Please, Miss Day, keep your own counsel for the present, and ask Miss Marsh to do the same.”