“Henrietta, dear, I didn’t think that you were so small-minded.”
“I don’t think I am, but you must remember we have to deal with schoolgirls who, whenever they get a chance, laugh at any one.”
“For my part,” said Mrs. Fleming, “I think her funny little words quite sweet; I assure you I watch for them. Of course, she must be broken off them, she mustn’t utter a word of that sort in a year’s time; but how girls can turn against her because she twists her tongue into the Irish style and speech beats me. I should have imagined that she would have been highly popular.”
Miss Greene sat and thought. “It is a very puzzling situation,” she said. “The child has got an enemy in both schools; but of course the worst enemy is in the Lower School, and there she is completely away from your supervision.”
“Yes, I thought of all that, and that is why I put her into the Upper School; but then I did think that her own cousins would look after her. I declare, Henrietta, this is more than I can stand. I will just send for those two children and speak to them.”
“Oh Mrs. Fleming! pardon me, dear, are you wise?”
“I won’t get Peggy into a scrape—no fear of that; but I must talk to them.”
“I will go and find them and ask them to come to you.”
“You may trust me, my dear; I will manage things all right.”
Miss Greene, in spite of herself, felt a little doubtful; but then Mrs. Fleming never did do anything wrong, although she had that extraordinary impulse which drew her so very close to little Peggy Desmond. Her character was also strong, warm, true, chivalrous. She sat for a long time thinking of that One who helped her through every trouble; she uttered a short, very fervent prayer, the sort of prayer that goes straight home, that never misses its mark. Then there came a tap at the door, and Molly Wyndham came in.