But the mystified Virginia and her wholly indignant room-mate could not resist some whispers.
“It’s Imogene,” whispered Priscilla, on Virginia’s bed. “She made Vivian do it; and now she means to put the blame on you, just because you told that story about Dick.”
“Oh, she couldn’t be so mean, Priscilla!”
“Yes, she could. She’s just that kind. And if Miss Green blames you, I’m going to tell. I am!”
This, and much more, went on in whispers in their room, and, for that matter, in every other. No one could sleep, and a half hour later every girl heard Miss Wallace’s voice at Imogene’s door.
“Imogene, you are to come to my room at once. No, I don’t wish you, Vivian. At once, please, Imogene.”
It was fully an hour later when they heard Imogene reenter her room, but no one ventured either that night or in the morning to ask any questions. As for Virginia, she was summoned to no interview, and suffered no unjust reprimand, save Miss Green’s piercing words, which she wrote, with a half-smile, in the chapter, “Pertaining Especially to Decorum”:
“I will inform you that methods in vogue upon a Wyoming ranch are not suitable in a young ladies’ boarding-school.”
Miss Van Rensaelar, who returned the next morning, never knew what deluge she escaped. Imogene’s manner forbade any interferences, but apparently Vivian’s life with her room-mate for the next few days was anything but a happy one. Secret discussions were held in The Hermitage, and likewise in the other cottages, for the news had spread; but Imogene and Vivian never attended, and Dorothy, if present, was silent and strangely embarrassed.
A week later when the newness of the affair had passed away, and when other topics occasionally came up for conversation, some news announced by Miss Green to her classes swept through St. Helen’s like wild-fire. In recognition of years of faithful service, St. Helen’s had presented Miss Green with a fund, with the request that she go to Athens for two years’ study at the Classical School.