"It seems to me I don't care about anything," said Susan. "I think I'll run away. Father couldn't turn me out if I went home; only I haven't got enough money. Have you any you could lend me, Maud?"
"To run away and leave me behind?" said Maud. "Indeed, that I haven't. Don't be a goose, Susy; we have got to face this thing and pull ourselves through somehow. I tell you what."
"Yes?"
"Let us confide in Star; let us tell her just everything. It's about the best thing to do. She's the sort of girl who'd be desperate and cruel if she were kept in the dark; but if she knew, why, she mightn't."
"And you want me to tell—me—that I opened her purse and took the bill out, and laid the blame on Christian. You think she'll bear it."
"I don't know," said Maud. "It seems to me she'll find out whether you tell her or not. Oh, by the way, what is the news of Christian?"
"The doctor says the crisis will come to-night. Jessie is in a fearful state of anxiety. We have none of us seen Miss Peacock for a minute to-day. You never knew anything like the gloom of the chapel. I cried all the time. The other girls quite pitied me. Mr. Dalzell preached a sermon about schoolgirls and their temptations. I think Jessie and Miss Peacock must have been sneaking and telling him things he ought not to know. The girls looked at me a lot. I cried harder than ever. Oh, dear! oh, dear! what a wretched creature I am!"
"We are all wretched, it seems to me," said Maud. "The sooner we got out of this depression the better." Susan made no reply.
The great gong was not allowed to be sounded that day, but Jessie came to say that dinner was ready, and the girls marched into the hall.