Magsie had now a most violent hatred for Leucha, having helped Hollyhock to nurse her through her illness, and being far more concerned for her own young lady than for that miserable thing, who had not the courage of a mouse.
'You had best be quick,' said Magsie now; and she went out of the room noisily, slamming the door with some violence after her. 'I don't think I ever saw so wicked a girl,' thought Magsie to herself.
The wicked girl in question thought, however, that prudence was the better part of valour, and went downstairs without delay to Mrs Macintyre's beautiful private sitting-room. She looked cross; she looked sulky; she looked, in short, all that a poor jealous nature could look, and there was not a trace of repentance about her.
Mrs Macintyre heaved an inward sigh. Outwardly her manner was exceedingly cold and at the same time determined.
'I have sent for you, Leucha Villiers,' she said, 'to ask you if you now intend to restore peace and harmony to the school.'
'What do you mean, Mrs Macintyre?' said Leucha.
'My child, you know quite well what I mean. Your dear and noble young friend'——
'I don't know of any such,' interrupted Leucha.
'Then you have a lamentably short memory, Leucha,' said Mrs Macintyre, 'or it could not have passed from your mind—the weary nights and long days when that brave young girl devoted herself to you.'
'You mean that naughty Hollyhock, of course—the one who played on me that wicked, wicked joke. A nice school this is, indeed.'