“Yes, ma’am,” said Miss Harcourt looking up, with her finger in the book to keep the place.
“How dare you stay in here with this person?” demanded the principal.
“It wasn’t my fault,” said Miss Harcourt, working up a whimper. “You locked me in. He was here when I came.”
“Why didn’t you call after me?” demanded Miss Dimchurch.
“I didn’t know he was here; he was under the table,” said Miss Harcourt.
Miss Dimchurch turned and bestowed a terrible glance upon Henry, who, with his forgotten pipe in his hand, looked uneasily up to see whether he could push past her. Miss Harcourt, holding her breath, gazed at the destroyer of pirates, and waited confidently for something extraordinary to happen.
“He’s been stealing my apples!” said Miss Dimchurch tragically. “Where’s the gymnasium mistress?”
The gymnasium mistress, a tall pretty girl, was just behind her.
“Remove that horrid boy, Miss O’Brien,” said the principal.
“Don’t worry,” said Henry, trying to speak calmly; “I’ll go. Stand away here. I don’t want to be hard on wimmin.”