"You are thirteen, I think," she said, at last, "old enough to understand that you have done rather an inexcusable thing this afternoon. If it had been little Bertillia, I should not have been surprised--one expects a baby to occasionally act on an absurd impulse, and that is why babies are in charge of someone, always. You are a girl of thirteen, with plenty of brains if you choose to make use of them, and yet, because presumably you were not enjoying yourself, you were guilty of very gross discourtesy towards your cousin, and of a breach of trust towards me. I grant that perhaps you did not understand it is a college rule that no girl goes out alone; but you heard me arrange with your cousin to bring you back in time for chapel at 6.30, so you knew what my wishes were." "Yes," murmured Joey, staring hard at a picture opposite--a little patch of purple heather, and a group of yellowing birches that reminded her of Calgarloch and home. Noreen and Barbara had prepared her for a row, but she had _not_ been prepared for the horrid effect of the Head's quiet, cold voice. "Your cousin telephoned here in great anxiety when she found that you had gone," Miss Conyngham went on, "and when there was no sign of you on the road we all knew you must be coming by the Deeps, in the sea-roke. You did a very dangerous as well as a very wrong thing, Jocelyn; do you know that?" "The man in the tower told me so, most kindly," Joey explained; "but I didn't do it on purpose. Honour! And I had a reason, a real proper reason for leaving Cousin Greta's on my own--only it wasn't one I could say to her. It _wasn't_ just not enjoying myself: I was enjoying myself quite with John--that is Gracie's snotty cousin, worth ten of her any day...." "That will do," interrupted Miss Conyngham. "I am glad you had any reason in what you did; but nothing can make it excusable. I have always been proud to trust our Redlands girls in every way; do you realise that when you act as you have done you are bringing discredit on us all? And a girl owes loyalty to her school above everything!" Joey swallowed hard. "Well, I'm frightfully sorry, Miss Conyngham. I ... I should think you had better punish me--only, might I go now, because of writing to Cousin Greta?" "You had better telephone to your cousin," Miss Conyngham said gravely. "I will put you through in a minute. Yes, I think you must be punished, not because I am angry but to help you to remember. You are not to talk to the others in Blue Dormitory for a week, and go to bed directly after supper during that time. Do you think you can remember?" Joey gasped. "You couldn't make it French verbs instead? I'm awful at French verbs--ask Maddy." "People don't choose their own punishments, Jocelyn," the Head told her, with the ghost of a smile. "It must be as I said: can you remember, do you think? You see, I am trusting to your honour."