"I can't exactly tell you, except——" Miss Jessie sat very still for a minute. "I do hope one thing, and that is that you will strongly dissuade Christian from telling the school at large about her adventure before she came here."
Miss Peacock was silent.
"I am absolutely sure," continued Miss Jessie, "that you would be doing the child irretrievable mischief and injury by allowing the story to get abroad in the school. Schoolgirls are only schoolgirls; they cannot read motives, and they cannot judge of the depth of repentance. To these carefully nurtured, carefully brought-up children the story of Christian's running away and of losing herself, if only for a few hours, in the slums of London would seem altogether horrible. Her repentance would quite fade from their view in comparison with the enormity of her sin. The fact is this, dear Miss Peacock, and I know I am right"—here Miss Jessie's eyes filled with tears—"the good girls of the school would turn away from Christian, and the naughty and troublesome ones would render her life a burden to her. She would never hear the last of her sin. You oughtn't to do it. I am sure—I am certain I am right."
"You go a little too far, Miss Jones," said Miss Peacock. Over her face there swept a wave of resolution, mixed with pain.
Jessie looked as though someone had struck her. To be called "Miss Jones," and by that beloved voice!
"You make a mistake in counseling me. I yield to you in a great deal, but in matters of conduct I am paramount. It is my intention to counsel Christian Mitford to tell, and for that reason I am going to see her to-night."
"Oh, it will be cruel! I cannot help saying it," continued Miss Jessie, and she burst into tears.
Miss Peacock laid her hand on the other's shoulder.
"Dear," she said, "I don't wish to be unkind, but is this your school or mine?"