"Miss Pym has just been enquiring about the incidence of crime at Leys. That is what it is to be a psychologist."
Before Lucy could protest against this version of her simple search for knowledge, Madame Lefevre said: "Well, let us oblige her. Let us turn out the rag-bag of our shameful past. What crime have we had?"
"Farthing was had up last Christmas term for riding her bike without lights," volunteered Miss Wragg.
"Crime," said Madame Lefevre. "Crime. Not petty misdemeanours."
"If you mean a plain wrong-un, there was that dreadful creature who was man-crazy and used to spend Saturday evenings hanging round the barrack gate in Larborough."
"Yes," said Miss Lux, remembering. "What became of her when we tossed her out, does anyone know?"
"She is doing the catering at a Seamen's Refuge in Plymouth," Henrietta said, and opened her eyes when they laughed. "I don't know what is funny about that. The only real crime we have had in ten years, as you very well know, was the watches affair. And even that," she added, jealous for her beloved institution, "was a fixation rather than plain theft. She took nothing but watches, and she made no use of them. Kept them all in a drawer of her bureau, quite openly. Nine, there were. A fixation, of course."
"By precedent, I suppose she is now with the Goldsmiths and Silversmiths," said Madame Lefevre.
"I don't know," said Henrietta, seriously. "I think her people kept her at home. They were quite well-to-do."
"Well, Miss Pym, the incidence appears to be point-something per cent." Madame Lefevre waved a thin brown hand. "We are an unsensational crowd."