“Well?” “My dear Jenny,” said Miss Haddie’s soft hollow voice, “how should the child judge?” Miriam’s heart leapt. She smiled inanely and eagerly accepted a second helping of blancmange suddenly proffered by Miss Perne, who was drawing little panting breaths and blinking sharply at her. “Nonsense, Haddie. Come along, my dear, it’s a chance for you. Come along.” “Tomboys,” said Miss Haddie indignantly. Miriam drew a breath. It was wrong, they were not tomboys--she knew they had not run like tomboys--they had scuttled, she was sure--horrid girls, that was what they were, nothing the Pernes could understand. The Pernes ought not to be bothered with them. “Well,” she said, feeling a sudden security, “are we responsible for them out of school hours?” Miss Haddie’s eyebrows moved nervously, and Miss Perne’s smile turned to a dubious mouthing. “Eh, there you are. D’ye see, Deborah. That’s it. That’s the crucial point. Are we responsible? I’m sure I can’t say. That places the whole difficulty in a nutshell. Here are these gels, not even day boarders. How far can we control their general behaviour? Eh? I’m sure I don’t know.” “My dear Jenny,” said Miss Haddie quickly, her hollow voice reverberating as if she were using a gargle, “it’s quite obvious that we can’t have gels known to belong to the school running about in the park with nothing on.” “I agree, my dear Haddie. But, as Jenny says, how are we to prevent such conduct?” “Don’t let us lose sight of Miriam’s point. _Are_ we responsible for their play-times? I suppose we’re _not_, you know, Deborah, really after all. Not directly, perhaps. But sheerly we are _indirectly_ responsible. Sheerly. We ought to be able to make it impossible for them to carry on in this unseemly fashion.” “Yes, yes,” said Miss Deborah eagerly, “sheerly.” “Is it education?” suggested Miriam. “That’s it, my dear. It is education. That’s what’s wanted. That’s what these gels want. I don’t know, though. All this talk of education. It ought to be the thing. And yet look at these two gels. Both of them from Miss Cass’s. There’s her school now. Famous all over London. Three hundred gels. We’ve had several here. And they’ve all had that objectionable noisy tone. Eh, Deborah? I don’t know. How is it to be accounted for? Eh?” “I’ve never heard of Miss Cass’s,” said Miriam. “My _dear_ child! It’s not possible! D’ye mean to say ye don’t know Miss Cass’s high school?” “Oh, if it’s a high school, of _course_.” All three ladies waited, with their eyes on her, making a chorus of inarticulate sounds. “Oh well, high schools are simply fearful.” Miriam glowed in a tide of gentle cackling laughter. “Well, you know, I think there’s something in it,” giggled Miss Jenny softly. “It’s the number perhaps. That’s what I always say, Deborah. Treating the gels like soldiers. Like a regiment. D’ye see? No individual study of the gels’ characters----”