Part 4 (1/2)
”Agatha, come here. I want to speak to you.”
Agatha closed her lips, drew in a long breath through her nostrils, and marched to within a few feet of Miss Wilson, where she halted with her hands clasped before her.
”Sit down.”
Agatha sat down with a single movement, like a doll.
”I don't understand that, Agatha,” said Miss Wilson, pointing to the entry in the Recording Angel. ”What does it mean?”
”I am unfairly treated,” said Agatha, with signs of agitation.
”In what way?”
”In every way. I am expected to be something more than mortal. Everyone else is encouraged to complain, and to be weak and silly. But I must have no feeling. I must be always in the right. Everyone else may be home-sick, or huffed, or in low spirits. I must have no nerves, and must keep others laughing all day long. Everyone else may sulk when a word of reproach is addressed to them, and may make the professors afraid to find fault with them. I have to bear with the insults of teachers who have less self-control than I, a girl of seventeen! and must coax them out of the difficulties they make for themselves by their own ill temper.”
”But, Agatha--”
”Oh, I know I am talking nonsense, Miss Wilson; but can you expect me to be always sensible--to be infallible?”
”Yes, Agatha; I do not think it is too much to expect you to be always sensible; and--”
”Then you have neither sense nor sympathy yourself,” said Agatha.
There was an awful pause. Neither could have told how long it lasted.
Then Agatha, feeling that she must do or say something desperate, or else fly, made a distracted gesture and ran out of the room.
She rejoined her companions in the great hall of the mansion, where they were a.s.sembled after study for ”recreation,” a noisy process which always set in spontaneously when the professors withdrew. She usually sat with her two favorite a.s.sociates on a high window seat near the hearth. That place was now occupied by a little girl with flaxen hair, whom Agatha, regardless of moral force, lifted by the shoulders and deposited on the floor. Then she sat down and said:
”Oh, such a piece of news!”
Miss Carpenter opened her eyes eagerly. Gertrude Lindsay affected indifference.
”Someone is going to be expelled,” said Agatha.
”Expelled! Who?”
”You will know soon enough, Jane,” replied Agatha, suddenly grave. ”It is someone who made an impudent entry in the Recording Angel.”
Fear stole upon Jane, and she became very red. ”Agatha,” she said, ”it was you who told me what to write. You know you did, and you can't deny it.”
”I can't deny it, can't I? I am ready to swear that I never dictated a word to you in my life.”
”Gertrude knows you did,” exclaimed Jane, appalled, and almost in tears.
”There,” said Agatha, petting her as if she were a vast baby. ”It shall not be expelled, so it shan't. Have you seen the Recording Angel lately, either of you?”
”Not since our last entry,” said Gertrude.
”Chips,” said Agatha, calling to the flaxen-haired child, ”go upstairs to No. 6, and, if Miss Wilson isn't there, fetch me the Recording Angel.”