“Since you will not do what I ask, I must go myself,” said Miss Wilson sternly.  “Come with me to my study,” she added to the two other girls.  “If you attempt to follow, Miss Wylie, I shall regard it as an intrusion.”

“But I will go away if you wish it.  I didn’t mean to diso—­”

“I shall not trouble you now.  Come, girls.”

The three went out; and Miss Wylie, left behind in disgrace, made a surpassing grimace at Miss Lindsay, who glanced back at her.  When she was alone, her vivacity subsided.  She went slowly to the window, and gazed disparagingly at the landscape.  Once, when a sound of voices above reached her, her eyes brightened, and her ready lip moved; but the next silent moment she relapsed into moody indifference, which was not relieved until her two companions, looking very serious, re-entered.

“Well,” she said gaily, “has moral force been applied?  Are you going to the Recording Angel?”

“Hush, Agatha,” said Miss Carpenter.  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“No, but you ought, you goose.  A nice row you have got me into!”

“It was your own fault.  You tore my dress.”

“Yes, when you were blurting out that I sometimes slide down the banisters.”

“Oh!” said Miss Carpenter slowly, as if this reason had not occurred to her before.  “Was that why you pulled me?”

“Dear me!  It has actually dawned upon you.  You are a most awfully silly girl, Jane.  What did the Lady Abbess say?”

Miss Carpenter again gave her tears way, and could not reply.

“She is disgusted with us, and no wonder,” said Miss Lindsay.

“She said it was all your fault,” sobbed Miss Carpenter.

“Well, never mind, dear,” said Agatha soothingly.  “Put it in the Recording Angel.”

“I won’t write a word in the Recording Angel unless you do so first,” said Miss Lindsay angrily.  “You are more in fault than we are.”

“Certainly, my dear,” replied Agatha.  “A whole page, if you wish.”

“I b-believe you like writing in the Recording Angel,” said Miss Carpenter spitefully.

“Yes, Jane.  It is the best fun the place affords.”

“It may be fun to you,” said Miss Lindsay sharply; “but it is not very creditable to me, as Miss Wilson said just now, to take a prize in moral science and then have to write down that I don’t know how to behave myself.  Besides, I do not like to be told that I am ill-bred!”

Agatha laughed.  “What a deep old thing she is!  She knows all our weaknesses, and stabs at us through them.  Catch her telling me, or Jane there, that we are ill-bred!”

“I don’t understand you,” said Miss Lindsay, haughtily.

“Of course not.  That’s because you don’t know as much moral science as I, though I never took a prize in it.”

“You never took a prize in anything,” said Miss Carpenter.

“And I hope I never shall,” said Agatha.  “I would as soon scramble for hot pennies in the snow, like the street boys, as scramble to see who can answer most questions.  Dr. Watts is enough moral science for me.  Now for the Recording Angel.”