“Cave!” said someone, in a sharp whisper.
There was a faint sound in the passage. Robin shot the empty suit-case under the bed, and in a moment every girl’s head was meekly on her pillow, as the door opened and Miss Stone’s portly figure appeared. She switched on the dormitory light. Behind her, Miss Bryant’s face showed, worried and anxious.
“Girls, what are you doing?”
There was profound silence.
“I heard your voices—you need not pretend to be asleep.” The principal’s angry glance swept the long room. “Joyce Harrison—what have you been doing?”
“Talking, Miss Stone.”
“And what else?”
No answer. Mild surprise was visible on Joyce’s innocent face. Talking in bed was against the rules—to admit to one breach of regulations seemed to her sufficient.
“You need not try to hide your guilt from me,” boomed Miss Stone, in tones of concentrated wrath. “I am very certain of what has been going on.” She moved from one bed to another, peering with short-sighted eyes. “What is that on your pillow, Ruby?”
She made a hasty step forward, and her foot caught on a trailing blanket. Stumbling, she put out her hand, to save herself. It came down squarely on Ruby’s neglected cream-puff. Triumph mingled with disgust as she regained her balance, cream dripping from the hand she held aloft.