"I would much, much rather not. You understand that in my position. Oh, yes, you gave me permission, as you expressed it, to be eyes behind your back, to do what I could to make comfort and happiness in the school, and yet to allow a certain amount of liberty. You gave me to understand—you really did, Lavinia—that I might shut my eyes when there was no real mischief ahead."
"I certainly did do so," replied Miss Lavinia gravely; "and I have no intention of going back on my word. Amongst so many girls one must expect differences of disposition. There will always be the girl of varieties; there will always be the thoughtless, heedless, mischievous girl. Now, I have sympathy with the variety girl, and with the daring, the ambitious, the frolicsome, the mischievous girl; but I have no sympathy—none whatever—with the wicked girl. And if such a girl is in this school, and is exercising her malign influence upon my pupils, out she goes. You must clearly understand that you allow no liberty when the wicked girl appears on the scene."
"But I am certain—I am quite positive—that there is no such girl in the school," said poor Miss Jessie, who, although she did not like Susan Marsh, could not be brought to think her anything but just a thoughtless, rather daring specimen of humanity; not exactly a nice girl, but as to being wicked!—oh no, poor little Miss Jessie could not even entertain the idea.
"I promise you," she said after a pause, "that if there is anything wrong I will let you know. For the rest you must trust me."
"What about the front attic?" said Miss Peacock suddenly.
"You allowed me liberty with regard to that. Nothing goes on that I don't know of. If there is anything distinctly disobedient, any act of open rebellion, I promise that you shall be told at once."
"All right, Jessie," said Miss Peacock with a sigh. She rose as she spoke, and going up to the glowing fire, put a pretty pointed foot on the brass fender and warmed it luxuriously.
"I cannot exactly tell you why," she said at last slowly, "but since that young girl, Christian Mitford, came to the school—it is nearly a month now since she arrived—I have not felt quite at my ease. There is something about the child that haunts me quite uncomfortably. Are you sure she is happy?"
"I am not," said Miss Jessie.
"But why should she be unhappy?"