"But she is so mixed up with it herself," I thought, "she dare not play me false." So there I sat on and on, pretending to be studious, and wondering what kept Clara so long, would have gone after her, only I knew that Miss Furness was keeping an eye upon me; and sometimes I half thought that she must know something about the night when I went down to the elms; but directly after I felt that she did not, or she would have told my Lady Blunt directly. But the fact of the matter was, she felt suspicious about the note, and all because I was so clumsy in trying to throw dust in her eyes. Five minutes--ten minutes--a quarter of an hour had passed, and still no Clara. Then another quarter of an hour, and still she did not come. "Whatever shall I do?" I thought to myself--"surely she is not deceiving me?" And then, just as my spirits were regularly boiling over, heated as they were by impatience and vexation, in she came, with the note in her hand; and I saw her laugh maliciously, and cross over to Patty Smith. "Oh," I said to myself, "I shall die of shame." And I'm sure no one can tell what agony I suffered while the creature was reading something to Patty, when they both had a hearty laugh; after which Clara began to double the note up, as, with eyes flashing fire, I sat watching that deceitful creature, not daring to move from my seat. "Miss Fitzacre, bring me that piece of paper you have in your hand," squeaked Miss Furness, who had been watching her like a cat does a mouse. Oh, if I could but have screamed out, or fainted, or seized the paper, and fled away! But I could not move, only sit suffering--suffering horribly, while Clara gave me another of her malicious smiles, as she crossed sulkily over to Miss Griffin's table, drew the paper from her pocket, laid it down, and then our _chere_ institutrice laid a paper-weight upon it, for she had a soul far above curiosity, while Clara came and sat down by me--poor me, who trembled so with fear and rage that my teeth almost chattered; for I could think of nothing else but Mrs Blunt and the Furness reading poor Achille's note. I did not know how to be angry enough with myself, for being so simple as to trust Clara; and I'm sure I should not, only I fancied her truthful and worthy; but now, I could have killed her--I could, I was so enraged. "You horribly treacherous, deceitful thing!" I whispered; "when, too, I trusted you so fully." "Why, what is the matter?" she said, quite innocently. "Don't look at me like that," I whispered. "How could you be so false?" "Oh, that's what you mean, is it?" she said. "Serve you right for not trusting me fully from the first, as I did you." "Worthy of trust, are you not?" I said angrily. "Will you be quite open with me for the future, then?" she said.