Virginia found Miss Green still in the gray shawl, and more icy and forbidding than when she had hurried from the room.
“Sit down, Virginia.” Virginia obeyed, sitting on the couch.
“I must ask you to come nearer where I can see you more closely.”
Virginia came nearer. Miss Green cleared her throat.
“I feel it my duty, Virginia, to talk with you. I am, indeed, sorry to be obliged to reprimand you so soon after your entrance in the school. I cannot understand your rudeness of—”
“But, Miss Green,” Virginia interrupted, because she could not help it, “really I—”
“Do not add to your impoliteness by interrupting. Allow me to finish.”
Virginia stammered an apology, her cheeks flushing painfully, her eyes bright, her heart rebellious.
“Will you explain your rude suggestion as to my change of occupation? Will you attempt to justify Imogene’s giggle? It all looks to me like a contemptible conspiracy! Now, you may speak.”
But for a long moment Virginia could not speak. Had she been at all to blame, she would have burst out crying; but the injustice of it all made her angry and too proud to cry. She choked back the tears which were blinding her eyes, and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Miss Green waited, the epitome of wounded patience. At last Virginia spoke, and she spoke frankly, for she had not been in school long enough to know the meaning of diplomacy.