“What was it?”
“You sent me to bed at seven o’clock.”
“Yes; that was part of the punishment.”
“Well, I didn’t like it. Oh! here comes Verena. Renny, I am confessing my sins.”
Verena ran up, her face full of anxiety. She put her arm round Pauline’s waist.
“See how bad her poor arm is,” she said, glancing at Miss Tredgold.
“Yes,” said Miss Tredgold, “it is badly hurt; but don’t interrupt, Verena. I am listening to the story of how Pauline burnt her arm.”
“You sent me to bed at seven o’clock,” said Pauline, who, now that she had embarked on her narrative, felt emboldened and, strange to say, almost enjoyed herself. “I could not possibly sleep at seven o’clock, you know; so, to amuse myself, I tried on my new white dress; and then I lit a candle, drew down the blinds, and looked at myself in the glass. I was so pleased! I did look nice; I felt quite conceited.”
“You needn’t tell me how you felt, Pauline. I want to hear facts, not accounts of your feelings. You did wrong to put on your white dress, for it had already been fitted on by the dressmaker, and it was being carefully kept for Sunday wear. But proceed. After you lit the candle and drew down the blinds what happened?”
“A great puff of wind came in through the window, and it blew the blind against the candle, and the flame of the candle came towards me, and I had my hand up to arrange my hair. I was fastening it up with hairpins to make myself look quite grown-up.”