My cheeks were burning. I was dreadfully disappointed and ashamed. Miss Vinton saw what I was feeling and stopped to explain that the examiner had not wanted mere bald answers of dates and names, but well-written essays, showing thought and intelligence. This was how I had failed, while Alice, cribbing my facts, had worked them out well, and come out first. I felt very sore about it, and almost forgot the injustice done to Mabel Smith.
There was still the history prize, and a hush of excited expectation fell on us when Miss Vinton began again:
"The history prize has been awarded to Nelly Gascoyne for a very good paper indeed. Margaret and Joyce have been bracketed second. Their papers were excellent, and only just behind Nelly's in merit."
I gasped with surprise. I had left so many questions unanswered that I had had no hope of distinction in history.
This was some consolation for my former disgrace—and then my mind went back to the question of what was to be done about the literature prize.
As soon as the business of the morning was concluded Mabel Smith touched my arm. She was still quite white, and her eyes were blazing.
"I must speak to you," she said.
"Come to the cloak-room," I answered, "we can get our books after."
"You know Alice Thompson cheated," she said, the moment we were alone. "I sat just behind, and I saw you push your papers over to her, and she leant over, and copied whatever she wanted."
"I never dreamt she'd get the prize," I answered, "I only wanted to help her out of a hole."