“Thank you,” said Maggie.
“I regret it, Maggie Howland, because you are at the school.”
“How very polite!” said Maggie, turning crimson.
“It is not polite,” said Aneta, “and I am sorry that I have to speak as I do; but it is necessary. We needn’t go into particulars; but I have something to say to you, and please understand that what I say I mean. You know that when first you came to the school I was as anxious as any one else to be kind to you, to help you, to be good to you. You know the reason why I changed my mind. You know what you did. You know that were Mrs. Ward to have the slightest inkling of what really occurred you would not remain another hour at Aylmer House. I haven’t told any one what I know; but if you, Maggie, tamper with Cicely and Merry Cardew, who are my cousins and dear friends—if you win them over to what you are pleased to call your side of the school—I shall consider it my duty to tell Mrs. Ward what I have hitherto kept back from her.”
Maggie was trembling very violently.
“You could not be so cruel,” she said after a pause.
“I have long thought,” continued Aneta, speaking in her calm, gentle voice, “that I did wrong at the time to keep silent; but you got my promise, and I kept it.”
“Yes, yes,” said Maggie, “I got your promise; you wouldn’t dare to break it?”
“You are mistaken,” said Aneta. “If the circumstances to which I have just alluded should arise I would break that promise. Now you understand?”
“I think you are the meanest, the cruellest—I think you are––There, I hate you!” said Maggie.