“Oh, how could you?” whispered Lettie. “I pity you from my soul; you have done for yourself now.”
“I don’t pity myself,” answered Leslie. “I am certain Miss Acheson has some fine ideas; and that I shall derive benefit from a conversation with her.”
[CHAPTER XVIII—THE GUILD OF ST. ELIZABETH.]
Immediately after dinner that evening, Leslie ran up to her room to make preparations for her visit to East Hall.
“Come, Annie,” she said to Miss Colchester, who was standing with her face to the window and her back to Leslie, “had you not better wrap a shawl about you; it is time to be off.”
“I’m not coming,” said Annie.
“Not coming? But you must. You know it is not only a request; it is an order from Miss Lauderdale. Every student is to be in East Hall at half-past eight.”
“It doesn’t matter,” replied Annie, “whether it is an order or not; I’m not coming. Say nothing about me, please. I shall stay at home to-night.”
“But why? You will only get yourself into trouble, and there is surely no use in that. Oh, Annie, I know you are dreadfully unhappy about something, and I wish I could comfort you. Do—do let me.”
Annie Colchester now turned slowly round; she looked fixedly at Leslie. There was a strained expression in her eyes, as if she did not quite know what she was looking at. Leslie approached her, and touched her hand. It burned as if with fever.