Agatha drew a deep breath, sat down resignedly, and said: “There! I have done. I have lost my temper; so now we have all lost our tempers.” “You have no right to lose your temper, Miss,” said Mr. Jansenius, following up a fancied advantage. “I am the youngest, and the least to blame,” she replied. “There is nothing further to be said, Mr. Jansenius,” said Miss Wilson, determinedly. “I am sorry that Miss Wylie has chosen to break with us.” “But I have not chosen to break with you, and I think it very hard that I am to be sent away. Nobody here has the least quarrel with me except you and Mrs. Miller. Mrs. Miller is annoyed because she mistook me for her cat, as if that was my fault! And really, Miss Wilson, I don’t know why you are so angry. All the girls will think I have done something infamous if I am expelled. I ought to be let stay until the end of the term; and as to the Rec--the fault book, you told me most particularly when I first came that I might write in it or not just as I pleased, and that you never dictated or interfered with what was written. And yet the very first time I write a word you disapprove of, you expel me. Nobody will ever believe now that the entries are voluntary.” Miss Wilson’s conscience, already smitten by the coarseness and absence of moral force in the echo of her own “You are impertinent,” from the mouth of Mr. Jansenius, took fresh alarm. “The fault book,” she said, “is for the purpose of recording self-reproach alone, and is not a vehicle for accusations against others.” “I am quite sure that neither Jane nor Gertrude nor I reproached ourselves in the least for going downstairs as we did, and yet you did not blame us for entering that. Besides, the book represented moral force--at least you always said so, and when you gave up moral force, I thought an entry should be made of that. Of course I was in a rage at the time, but when I came to myself I thought I had done right, and I think so still, though it would perhaps have been better to have passed it over.” “Why do you say that I gave up moral force?” “Telling people to leave the room is not moral force. Calling them impertinent is not moral force.” “You think then that I am bound to listen patiently to whatever you choose to say to me, however unbecoming it may be from one in your position to one in mine?” “But I said nothing unbecoming,” said Agatha. Then, breaking off restlessly, and smiling again, she said: “Oh, don’t let us argue. I am very sorry, and very troublesome, and very fond of you and of the college; and I won’t come back next term unless you like.”