“You are a fine girl, Miss Brown,” she said, “and if you tell me that the girl who cut the wires was not Miss Andrews, I believe you implicitly. Of course, Miss Walker would never tell Miss Andrews not to return to Wellington without something very definite and tangible on which to base her dismissal. Luke Andrews, the girl’s father, is as hot-headed and high tempered as his daughter, and he would probably make a great deal of trouble and cause a great deal of publicity if Frances were asked to leave college quietly.”
“I’m sorry for her,” said Molly. “I think she might have been helped if she had had just a little more time. After all, the worse thing about her is her bringing up.”
“And this other girl whom you are shielding, Miss Brown, does she deserve so much generosity from you?”
Molly closed her lips firmly.
“That isn’t the question with me, Miss Steel,” she said at last. “The question is: could I ever show my face again if I told.”
“But no one need ever know, that is, no one but the President and me.”
“You don’t understand,” said Molly wearily. “It’s with me, you see. I could never be on comfortable terms with myself again. I should always be thinking that I hadn’t behaved—well, like a gentleman.”
Then the inspector did a most surprising thing. She went over and kissed Molly.
“I wouldn’t for worlds keep you from being true to yourself, my child,” she exclaimed. “It’s a rare quality, and one which will make you devoted friends all your life, because people will always know they can trust you.”
Molly looked at the inspector, and lo and behold, a strange transformation had taken place in that inscrutable, expressionless face. The cold gray eyes were softened by a mist of tears and the thin lips were actually quivering. She looked almost beautiful at that moment, and Molly suddenly put her arms around her neck and laid her head on the flat, hard chest.