“Go to your seat, Miss Dale. I—I shall look into—into this matter later. Go to your seat, instantly!”
“But—but, Miss Olaine——”
Dorothy was certainly amazed. The teacher, however, waved her away. “Immediately!” she gasped. “Or I shall report you to Mrs. Pangborn.”
The other girls moved away, staring and surprised. Of course Dorothy took her seat; but her face showed that she was both hurt and puzzled.
Tavia slipped into her own place, the War Cry hidden in her blouse. She had taken it out of the teacher’s wastebasket when no one observed her. She was really frightened, now, by what she had brought about.
Dorothy was suspected, it was evident. Miss Olaine believed that the marked paper had been thrust under her eyes by the girl whose name and address were upon the margin.
Now, what would Miss Olaine do? What could she do, in fact? It really was a personal matter. She could not punish Dorothy very well for merely laying that paper on the desk.
So Tavia told herself. She had suddenly lost grip on her courage. Tavia was not usually a cowardly girl—not even morally.
But she shrank from explaining to the teacher. Something was gravely wrong with Miss Olaine, and it was connected with Tom Moran. It wasn’t the mention of the Rector Street School fire that had “sent her off,” as Tavia expressed it, on that former occasion, when Miss Olaine read Dorothy’s postal card.
There was some reason for Miss Olaine to be disturbed by the mention of Tom Moran’s name. Tavia had suspected it; but now she was sorry that she had gone to work to prove her suspicion!