"I'm afraid there is not much doubt about that," was the answer.
"It seems to me," went on Ruth nervously, "that there's some mystery about it. Maysie won't tell me anything."
"Maysie has no reason to be proud of herself," replied Miss Bennet coldly.
"It seems so horrid her not going in for the exhibition, and she's so good at painting."
"There are various ways of making use of one's talents," said Miss Bennet, rising. "Now this——"
Ruth jumped to her feet, and stood gazing. There, on Miss Bennet's writing-table, lay the identical scrap of paper that she had shown to Maysie the Friday before. "Miss E. in a tantrum!" There, too, was Maysie's name in the corner. In a moment everything was clear.
"That!" she exclaimed. "Maysie didn't do that!"
Miss Bennet looked at her doubtfully.
"I did it!" she went on. "Oh, if I'd only known! Why didn't some one tell me about it?"
"My dear child," began Miss Bennet.