“For a wonder,” she said, “here are two entries that are not mine. Sarah Gerram! What has she been confessing?”
“Don’t read it,” said Miss Lindsay quickly. “You know that it is the most dishonorable thing any of us can do.”
“Poch! Our little sins are not worth making such a fuss about. I always like to have my entries read: it makes me feel like an author; and so in Christian duty I always read other people’s. Listen to poor Sarah’s tale of guilt. ‘1st October. I am very sorry that I slapped Miss Chambers in the lavatory this morning, and knocked out one of her teeth. This was very wicked; but it was coming out by itself; and she has forgiven me because a new one will come in its place; and she was only pretending when she said she swallowed it. Sarah Gerram.”’
“Little fool!” said Miss Lindsay. “The idea of our having to record in the same book with brats like that!”
“Here is a touching revelation. ‘4th October. Helen Plantagenet is deeply grieved to have to confess that I took the first place in algebra yesterday unfairly. Miss Lindsay prompted me;’ and—”
“Oh!” exclaimed Miss Lindsay, reddening. “That is how she thanks me for prompting her, is it? How dare she confess my faults in the Recording Angel?”
“Serves you right for prompting her,” said Miss Carpenter. “She was always a double-faced cat; and you ought to have known better.”
“Oh, I assure you it was not for her sake that I did it,” replied Miss Lindsay. “It was to prevent that Jackson girl from getting first place. I don’t like Helen Plantagenet; but at least she is a lady.’
“Stuff, Gertrude,” said Agatha, with a touch of earnestness. “One would think, to hear you talk, that your grandmother was a cook. Don’t be such a snob.”
“Miss Wylie,” said Gertrude, becoming scarlet: “you are very — oh! oh! Stop Ag — oh! I will tell Miss — oh!” Agatha had inserted a steely finger between her ribs, and was tickling her unendurably.
“Sh-sh-sh,” whispered Miss Carpenter anxiously. “The door is open.”
“Am I Miss Wylie?” demanded Agatha, relentlessly continuing the torture. “Am I very — whatever you were going to say? Am I? am I? am I?”
“No, no,” gasped Gertrude, shrinking into a chair, almost in hysterics. “You are very unkind, Agatha. You have hurt me.”
“You deserve it. If you ever get sulky with me again, or call me Miss Wylie, I will kill you. I will tickle the soles of your feet with a feather,” (Miss Lindsay shuddered, and hid her feet beneath the chair) “until your hair turns white. And now, if you are truly repentant, come and record.”
“You must record first. It was all your fault.”
“But I am the youngest,” said Agatha.
“Well, then,” said Gertrude, afraid to press the point, but determined not to record first, “let Jane Carpenter begin. She is the eldest.”
“Oh, of course,” said Jane, with whimpering irony. “Let Jane do all the nasty things first. I think it’s very hard. You fancy that Jane is a fool; but she isn’t.”
“You are certainly not such a fool as you look, Jane,” said Agatha gravely. “But I will record first, if you like.”
“No, you shan’t,” cried Jane, snatching the pen from her. “I am the eldest; and I won’t be put out of my place.”
She dipped the pen in the ink resolutely, and prepared to write. Then she paused; considered; looked bewildered; and at last appealed piteously to Agatha.
“What shall I write?” she said. “You know how to write things down; and I don’t.”
“First put the date,” said Agatha.
“To be sure,” said Jane, writing it quickly. “I forgot that. Well?”
“Now write, ‘I am very sorry that Miss Wilson saw me when I slid down the banisters this evening. Jane Carpenter.’”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all: unless you wish to add something of your own composition.”
“I hope it’s all right,” said Jane, looking suspiciously at Agatha. “However, there can’t be any harm in it; for it’s the simple truth. Anyhow, if you are playing one of your jokes on me, you are a nasty mean thing, and I don’t care. Now, Gertrude, it’s your turn. Please look at mine, and see whether the spelling is right.”
“It is not my business to teach you to spell,” said Gertrude, taking the pen. And, while Jane was murmuring at her churlishness, she wrote in a bold hand:
“I have broken the rules by sliding down the banisters to-day with Miss Carpenter and Miss Wylie. Miss Wylie went first.”
“You wretch!” exclaimed Agatha, reading over her shoulder. “And your father is an admiral!”
“I think it is only fair,” said Miss Lindsay, quailing, but assuming the tone of a moralist. “It is perfectly true.”
“All my money was made in trade,” said Agatha; “but I should be ashamed to save myself by shifting blame to your aristocratic shoulders. You pitiful thing! Here: give me the pen.”
“I will strike it out if you wish; but I think—”
“No: it shall stay there to witness against you. Now see how I confess my faults.” And she wrote, in a fine, rapid hand:
“This evening Gertrude Lindsay and Jane Carpenter met me at the top of the stairs, and said they wanted to slide down the banisters and would do it if I went first. I told them that it was against the rules, but they said that did not matter; and as they are older than I am, I allowed myself to be persuaded, and did.”
“What do you think of that?” said Agatha, displaying the page.
They read it, and protested clamorously.
“It is perfectly true,” said Agatha, solemnly.
“It’s beastly mean,” said Jane energetically. “The idea of your finding fault with Gertrude, and then going and being twice as bad yourself! I never heard of such a thing in my life.”
“‘Thus bad begins; but worse remains behind,’ as the Standard Elocutionist says,” said Agatha, adding another sentence to her confession.
“But it was all my fault. Also I was rude to Miss Wilson, and refused to leave the room when she bade me. I was not wilfully wrong except in sliding down the banisters. I am so fond of a slide that I could not resist the temptation.”
“Be warned by me, Agatha,” said Jane impressively. “If you write cheeky things in that book, you will be expelled.”
“Indeed!” replied Agatha significantly. “Wait until Miss Wilson sees what you have written.”
“Gertrude,” cried Jane, with sudden misgiving, “has she made me write anything improper? Agatha, do tell me if—”
Here a gong sounded; and the three girls simultaneously exclaimed “Grub!” and rushed from the room.
CHAPTER II
One sunny afternoon, a hansom drove at great speed along Belsize Avenue, St. John’s Wood, and stopped before a large mansion. A young lady sprang out; ran up the steps, and rang the bell impatiently. She was of the olive complexion, with a sharp profile: dark eyes with long lashes; narrow mouth