All the light went out of her small face and all the gladness from her eyes.
“I didn’t think you’d be so mean, Fleetie,” she said, and she went right away to the other end of the room and stood with her back to her governess.
Miss Fleet glanced with a queer sort of longing towards the little figure.
The little figure at the other end of the room looked pathetic; it looked lonely. Miss Fleet remembered certain words of the Rector’s:
“I cannot see why you should object to the children playing with each other. Squire Harringay did not object; on the contrary, he was glad.”
“Yes, yes,” thought the governess; “and I would have allowed it in moderation, and doubtless it can be arranged in moderation when the Squire comes back. But Phyllis did wrong, and she must be punished in such a way as to make her feel it. I am forced to get this promise from her. I can take nothing else.”
But all the time while Miss Fleet thought, she kept watching the little figure, and presently she saw the shoulders slightly heave, and she guessed that Phyllis was crying.
“It is very hard; I hate myself,” thought the governess. “But I must, I must make her feel it.”
It was just at that moment that Phyllis wheeled right round and came up to Miss Fleet and said quietly:
“If I cannot see them, may I write to them to say why?”