“If mothery gave me something and wrote my name in it I’d be fond of it,” she thought; and just for a moment a prick of remorse visited her hard little heart.
No other girl in the whole school could confess the crime which Evelyn had committed, and the evening came in considerable gloom and excitement. Audrey could talk of nothing else on their way home.
“It is terrible,” said Audrey. “I am really sorry we are both at the school; it makes things so unpleasant for us. And you, Evelyn—I did pity you when Miss Henderson said to-day that you were alone in the room. Did you not feel awful?”
“No, I did not,” replied Evelyn. “At least, perhaps I did just for a minute.”
“Well, it was very brave of you. I should not have liked to be in your position.”
Evelyn turned the conversation.
“I wonder whether any one will confess to-morrow,” said Audrey again.
“Perhaps it was one of the servants,” remarked Evelyn. Then she said abruptly, “Oh, do let us change the subject!”
“There is something fine about Evelyn after all,” thought Audrey; “And I am so glad! She took that speech of Miss Henderson’s very well indeed. Now, I scarcely thought it fair to have her name singled out in the way it was. Surely Miss Henderson could not have suspected my little cousin!”
At dinner Audrey mentioned the whole circumstance of the torn book to her parents. The girls were again dining with the Squire and Lady Frances. The Squire was interested for a short time; he then began to chat with Evelyn, who was fast, in her curious fashion, becoming a favorite of his. She was always at her best in his society, and now nestled up close to him, and said in an almost winsome manner: