She paused again; but still Peggy was silent. What could she say? Besides, no question had been asked her—yet!
The question came. "You are silent, Peggy. Do you know anything about this matter?"
"Yes, Miss Russell!" said Peggy, faintly.
"I feel," said the Principal, in a tone of regret, "that I have been to blame in not warning you of this beforehand, and putting you on your guard. I had hoped that when Bil—when the young lady of whom I spoke was gone, the whole thing would die out; it is a distressing thing to warn a pupil against her schoolmates. Still, I feel that in this case I ought to have done so. I place entire confidence in you, Peggy. I am sure that you would not yourself break the rules of the school; but you may have been put to inconvenience and distress by the lawlessness of others. I am very sorry if this has been the case."
Peggy shut her eyes tight, and said "Margaret!" twice to herself. Then she looked at the Principal.
"Miss Russell," she said,—she tried to steady her voice, but it would come strange and shaky,—"you are mistaken about me. I am not the kind of girl you think I am. I—I went out last night without leave, by the fire-escape."
There was a silence.
"Who induced you—that is, with whom did you go?" asked Miss Russell, presently.
"I—I didn't say that any one else went."
"No, my dear, you did not say so. But—" and here Miss Russell rose, and, crossing the room, laid her hand on Peggy's shoulder; "if I know anything at all of girls, you did not go alone, and you did not go of your own motion. And—Peggy, if you were not the kind of girl I thought you, you would not be feeling as you do now about the whole thing."