"Oh, I'm going to be awfully good," she said. "You'll see!"
It was Saturday the next day, and Maysie was just settling down to her drawing in the music-room, when Miss Elton appeared. Maysie looked up and smiled at her. It was no unusual thing for her science-mistress to come in and remark on her progress. But on this occasion no answering smile greeted her. Maysie was puzzled. Her inquiring grey eyes fell before Miss Elton's; she began to search her conscience. What had she done?
"I think it is a pity, Maysie," began Miss Elton, "that you put your talents to such an improfitable use."
As she spoke she laid before Maysie the paper that Ruth had exhibited to her in such triumph the day before. Maysie grew scarlet, and remained quite speechless. Her name up in the corner, the neat, even printing, so like her own, the altered diagram that Miss Elton had seen in its original form—they stared her in the face, condemning her beyond hope of appeal. She raised her head proudly, and tossed back the thick curly hair that hung over her shoulder.
"Where did it come from?" she asked.
"I picked it up from under the edge of my platform, but that is of no concern."
"But, Miss Elton——" stammered Maysie, growing suddenly confused.
"You have no excuse," put in Miss Elton, and her voice was all the harder because of the disappointment that she felt. "This is a piece of your paper, is it not?"
Maysie admitted that it was.
"And your diagram?"