"That's not the end?" McTaggart saw by the girl's face there was more to follow.
"No—of course not. All that morning I simply sat on thorns, expecting between every lecture to be sent for by the Principal. But nothing happened. At five o'clock I went down from my last lecture and passed by the Professors' room, where the door was wide open. Inside was Mr. Jackson—the Professor—you know—writing hard. So, then, I had an inspiration. I knocked and said: 'May I speak to you, sir?' And he wheeled round, looked surprised and said in a chilly voice:
"'Certainly. What do you want?'
"It was no good mincing matters, so I asked, outright:
"'Are you going to report me, sir?'
"He didn't answer for a moment. He seemed to be thinking hard. Then, in the same cold, absent manner——
"'No.' Just that and nothing more."
Jill stopped, her attention caught by the first glimpse of the open heath as the car breasted the last rise, and the wind came blustering in their teeth.
"Oh, isn't it lovely here!" She drew a deep breath of content.
"Straight across?" McTaggart asked. She nodded her head, her eyes fixed on the far-away vista of trees, bare but shrouded in a violet haze.