"Was she angry?" said Louise, in her smallest voice. Agatha began to enjoy herself. "Angry? She was raving!" "What did she say?" "Well, she didn't say much," admitted Agatha. "Just asked where you were, and if not, why not--you know her way. Then we got started and went all through it, and had a gorgeous afternoon. She read your part. I say, she can act, can't she? But she was pretty mad, of course." "Was she--" said Louise. But it was not a question. "Oh, and you're to go to her at break, this morning. Don't go and forget, and then say I didn't tell you." And she turned to greet the entering mistress with a flood of Anglo-French. Louise had three parts of an hour in which to assimilate the message. How unlucky she was! She remembered the previous morning as one remembers a nightmare.... Miss Durand had certainly drifted through its dreadfulness--but of what she had said or done, Louise remembered nothing. But it was certain that she had managed to annoy Miss Hartill more than ever. To miss a special rehearsal! Now she was to go to her, and Miss Hartill would be so angry already, that when the question of the papers arose, the last chance of her leniency was gone.... For, of course, she would speak of the examination.... What would she say? Her imagination stubbed; it could not pierce the terror of what Miss Hartill would say. The break was half over before she had wrenched herself out of her desk, along the length of the school, and up the staircase to Clare's little sanctum. She knocked timidly. Clare's answering bell, that invariably startled her, rang sharply. She hesitated--the bell rang again, a prolonged, shrill peal. She pulled herself together, opened the door, and went in. The floor was littered with gay costumes. Miss Durand, in a big apron, laughter-flushed, with her pretty hair tumbling down her back, was sorting them into neat heaps. Clare, at ease in a big arm-chair, directing operations, while her quick fingers cut and pasted at a tinsel crown, was laughing also. "How happy they look," thought Louise. Clare glanced up. "Well, Louise," she said, not unkindly. Louise stammered a little. "Miss Hartill--I'm very sorry--I'm most awfully sorry. They said--the girls said--there was rehearsal yesterday, and you wanted me. I honestly didn't know. I've only just heard there was one." Clare kept her waiting while she clipped at the indentations of the crown. The scissors clicked and flashed. It seemed an interminable process. Finally she spoke to Alwynne, her eyes on her work. "Miss Durand! You gave my message to the Fifths?" Yes, Alwynne had told the girls. "Wasn't Louise in the room at the time?" Alwynne's unwilling eyes took in every detail of the forlorn figure between them. She lied swiftly, amazing herself-- "As a matter of fact--I believe Louise was not in the room at the time. It was my fault: I should have seen that she was told. I'm so sorry."