A Dixie School Girl Part 15

With appropriate hesitancy the events of the afternoon were graphically pictured for the Empress. When they were completely drawn she said with the grimness of Fate: "You may go, but remember, not one word to your companions." A most superfluous admonition, for Eleanor was nearly petrified with fear as it was. She retreated to her room with all possible speed and her room-mate wondered what had taken place to make her look so pale, but refrained from asking questions. Eleanor and her room-mate were not entirely congenial.

It was close to nine-thirty when she entered her room which was on the floor above Beverly's. Down in hospitable Suite 10 the social spirit was rampant. The Basket-ball victory was being celebrated by a spread. Light bell did not ring until ten Sat.u.r.day nights. Beverly was in the act of biting into a chocolate eclair when Miss Stetson came to the door.

Beverly was sitting back to it and supposed it was one of her companions.

As all will concede, an eclair is, to say the least, an uncertain quant.i.ty. Even upon a plate and carefully manipulated with a fork, it is given to erratic performances. When held between a thumb and forefinger, and _bitten_ into, its possibilities are beyond conjecture. Miss Stetson appeared at a most inopportune moment (she usually did) and each girl rose to her feet, Beverly under the circ.u.mstances being the last to do so because she had no idea that Miss Stetson was anywhere near No. 10. Her tardy uprising brought about the inevitable result. Her teeth came together upon her eclair and the filling escaped its bounds, landing in many places that it should not have landed. When Miss Stetson had removed about a tablespoonful of cream filling from her bosom, she said icily: "Miss Ashby, you are to report at Miss Woodhull's study at once," and utterly ignored Beverly's apologies.

"Report at Miss Woodhull's office at nine-thirty at night?"

Consternation fell upon the revellers. The hair had snapped and Damocles'

sword had certainly fallen.

CHAPTER XVI

A CRISIS

Fully as bewildered as the girls she had left behind her, Beverly went quickly to Miss Woodhull's study. So far as she could recollect nothing could be scored against her deportment unless, at this late date her wild gallop to Kilton Hall had become known, or the presence of Athol and Archie at the Hallowe'en frolic had been discovered. True, she had recognized Athol and his companion as they were leaving the gymnasium that afternoon, but she did not believe that any one else had. As to any foreknowledge of that prank she had not had the slightest. So her conscience was quite clear on that score anyway. She tapped at the door and was bidden enter. Miss Woodhull's expression as she looked at Beverly was most forbidding.

"Good-evening, Miss Woodhull. Miss Stetson said you wished to see me."

Utterly ignoring the greeting, Miss Woodhull thrust toward Beverly the incriminating letter, at the same time demanding: "Who has had the audacity to send such a thing as this to you while you are a pupil in my school?"

Beverly started at sight of the lost love billet, Miss Woodhull noted the start and a sneer curved her set lips.

"No one sent it to me, Miss Woodhull," she answered calmly.

"You will probably add that you have never seen it before."

Beverly did not reply.

"Answer me at once."

"Yes, I have seen it before."

"Where did you last see it?"

"In my English history book."

"How came it there, pray?"

"I put it there myself."

"And yet you have the temerity to tell me that it is not yours? Are you in the habit of reading letters which are addressed to other people?"

"Was the letter addressed, Miss Woodhull? It was not even in an envelope when it came into my possession."

"You have no doubt destroyed the envelope. Nevertheless, I must insist upon knowing who wrote that letter."

"I cannot tell you, Miss Woodhull. I have never looked at the signature."

"How dare you resort to such fencing with me? You cannot evade a direct answer, for I have resolved to learn the writer's name, and report him to the princ.i.p.al of his school," a.s.serted Miss Woodhull, jumping at conclusions.

"I cannot tell you the writer's name."

"You mean that you _will_ not. But, I warn you, this obstinacy only adds to the gravity of the situation."

"It is not obstinacy, Miss Woodhull; I do not know it."

"Yet you admit having had this open letter in your possession and insist that it is not your own? A curious combination, to say the least," was the sarcastic retort.

"I had the letter, but it is not mine. I never read it, and I do not know the writer's name." This was entirely true, Beverly had never heard dear "Reggie's" surname.

"Perhaps you are likewise ignorant of the ident.i.ty of the two people who masqueraded as Tweedle-dee and Jack o' Lantern?"

"They were my brother and his friend Archie," was the prompt reply.

"Ah! Then you will admit something of this intrigue."

"If it can be called by so portentious a name," answered Beverly smiling.

That smile acted like a match to gunpowder. Miss Woodhull's temper and self-control vanished together, and for a few moments Beverly was the object of a scathing volley of sarcastic invective. As it waxed hotter and hotter Beverly grew colder and colder, though her eyes and cheeks were blazing.

"It is useless to keep up this silly deception. You may as well try to make me believe that you were not aware of the presence of your brother and your silly sweetheart disguised as girls this afternoon, and that you did not lay the whole disgraceful plan for them to escape at the rear of the grounds." Miss Woodhull did not confide to Beverly that she had been most beautifully hoodwinked by those same girls, who had actually gone into the reception room, partaken of the "eats" with the other guests, held charmingly lisping conversations with two or three of the faculty, Miss Woodhull included, who had afterward commented upon the "charming manners of the two young girls who had come from Luray," they having so informed that lady.

"Sweetheart?" repeated Beverly in amazement. It was the one word which burned itself into her brain. The tone in which she echoed it ought to have enlightened Miss Woodhull. "Archie my sweetheart?"

"I dare say that is what you call him, since he so terms you in this missive," sneered Miss Woodhull.

"Archie is like an older brother to me, Miss Woodhull. We were raised together," said Beverly with a simple dignity which should have prohibited further taunts of the kind.

"Raised?" queried the lady. "Do you cla.s.s yourself with the vegetable or the lower animal kingdom?"

"I think you must have heard that expression used before in Virginia,"

was the quiet reply, though her cheeks grew a deeper red, and had Mrs.

Ashby been present, and occupying the tribunal it is safe to a.s.sume that she would have been prepared for something to happen right speedily.

Indeed it was a wonder something had not happened long ago.

"It is just such barbarisms of speech that I have spent a quarter of a century in a vain endeavor to eliminate from the extraordinary vocabulary of this section of the United States, but I recognize it to be a Sisyphus task. That, however, is aside the question. The vital ones at this moment are: By whom was this letter written? When did you receive it? What is the meaning of its contents, and how you could have had the audacity to hold clandestine meetings with this young man? Also, how many times he has actually forced himself into my school disguised as a girl?"

In a slow even voice Beverly replied to each question:

"I do not know the name of the person who wrote that letter. I never received it. I can not tell you the meaning of the contents because I do not know them. I have never held any clandestine meetings with Athol or Archie, and so far as I knew until after the game today they had been in this school but once. At that time I knew they were coming and we did it partly for a lark and partly because I wanted so terribly to see Athol."

A little catch came into her voice just there. Miss Woodhull wholly misinterpreted the reason for it and murmured sarcastically:

_"Athol."_