“Meet me in the chapel to-night,” he whispered low in her car, “I will talk with you and pray with you there.”
He closed the door, and came back to Susan.
All throughout this interview his manner had been very gentle to Hester; but the clergyman could be stern, and there was a gleam of very righteous anger in his eyes as he turned to the sullen girl who leaned heavily against the table.
“This narrative of Hester Thornton’s is, of course, quite true, Miss Drummond?”
“Oh, yes; there seems to be no use in denying that,” said Susan.
“I must insist on your telling me the exact story of your sin. There is no use in your attempting to deny anything; only the utmost candour on your part can now save you from being publicly expelled.”
“I am willing to tell,” answered Susan. “I meant no harm; it was done as a bit of fun. I had a cousin at home who was very clever at drawing caricatures, and I happened to have nothing to do one day, and I was alone in Annie’s bedroom, and I thought I’d like to see what she kept in her desk. I always had a fancy for collecting odd keys, and I found one on my bunch which fitted her desk exactly. I opened it, and I found such a smart little caricature of Mrs Willis. I sent the caricature to my cousin, and begged of her to make an exact copy of it. She did so, and I put Annie’s back in her desk, and pasted the other into Cecil’s book. I didn’t like Dora Russell, and I wrapped up the sweeties in her theme; but I did the other for pure fun, for I knew Cecil would be so shocked; but I never guessed the blame would fall on Annie. When I found it did, I felt inclined to tell once or twice, but it seemed too much trouble, and, besides, I knew Mrs Willis would punish me, and, of course, I didn’t wish that.
“Dora Russell was always very nasty to me, and when I found she was putting on such airs, and pretending she could write such a grand essay for the prize, I thought I’d take down her pride a bit. I went to her desk, and I got some of the rough copy of the thing she was calling ‘The River,’ and I sent it off to my cousin, and my cousin made up such a ridiculous paper, and she hit off Dora’s writing to the life, and, of course, I had to put it into Dora’s desk and tear up her real copy. It was very unlucky Hester being in the room. Of course I never guessed that, or I wouldn’t have gone. That was the night we all went with Annie to the fairies’ field. I never meant to get Hester into a scrape, nor Annie either, for that matter; but, of course, I couldn’t be expected to tell on myself.”
Susan related her story in her usual monotonous and singsong voice. There was no trace of apparent emotion on her face, or of regret in her tones. When she had finished speaking Mr Everard was absolutely silent.
“I took a great deal of trouble,” continued Susan, after a pause, in a slightly fretful key. “It was really nothing but a joke, and I don’t see why such a fuss should have been made. I know I lost a great deal of sleep trying to manage that twine business round my foot. I don’t think I shall trouble myself playing any more tricks upon school-girls—they are not worth it.”