Miss Ashton, wearied by her day’s anxieties, did not approve of these late calls, and only answered them for fear of sickness, so it was some time before she said, “Come in.”
She was not surprised to see Marion, for Miss Palmer had already reported her failure in the mathematical class; but she said kindly,
“What is wrong now, Marion? Have you had another letter from home?”
“No, Miss Ashton; it is—it was—I mean, I wanted to ask you if you had any objection to my having a prayer-meeting in my room?”
“A prayer-meeting in your room?” repeated Miss Ashton. “Why do you ask it?”
This was the question Marion had expected; but now, with Miss Ashton looking straight in her eyes, she hesitated to answer it.
“I thought—I hoped,” she blundered at last, “that I might do more good,—might, perhaps, save Susan.”
“I see,” and Miss Ashton looked very grave now. “Your mother has told you what I wrote her of your religious influence here, and you wish to increase it; but why Susan particularly?”
Now Marion found herself unexpectedly in deep waters. If she attempted to answer this question, 227 what disclosures she would have to make! A tell-tale! A mischief-maker! A character of all others she despised, and so did, she well knew, the whole school. She hung her head, the color coming into her face, and the tears into her eyes.
“There is something wrong here,” Miss Ashton thought, but she only said,—