"But come in again at five o'clock and have some 'cakes and tea,'" she said, with great meaning. "My poor cakes and tea! Oh, it was outrageous! I shall never pardon Millicent."
So Peggy went home, or rather to her uncle's house, for the girls shared the school-room there. After lessons were over, and they were left alone together, Peggy broke the silence.
"Did you write those lines to Cousin Appolina, Mill?"
"No; of course not, Peggy. It must have been Joan."
"Do you really think so?"
"Yes; and I feel dreadfully about it. Not so much because I will lose the trip, but because she has been so deceitful. I can't understand it. To think, too, of your being the one to go, after all."
"But why didn't you tell Cousin Appolina that you didn't write it?"
"It wasn't worth while. I knew it must have been either you or Joan, and I thought if you did it you would say so. If Joan did it—well, Peggy, I didn't want to. I feel dreadfully about Joan's having done it. I shall talk to the child, and— But I can't bear to think she did it, and I would rather have Cousin Appolina think it was I than little Joan."
"You are very generous," said Peggy.
"No, I am not. I shouldn't be the one to go, anyhow. Of course the whole thing is terribly dishonorable, but I must save Joan."