"Give it me! You've no right! You've no right!" she gasped. Her shyness had gone, she was blazing with indignation.
Agatha, the book held teasingly out of reach, affected to search for her place. Louise raised her clenched fist desperately.
A cool hand caught her wrist in a firm yet kindly grip. A hush fell on the voluble group and Agatha collapsed into an apologetic nonentity.
Clare, who had entered in her usual noiseless fashion, stood a moment between the combatants, watching the effect of her appearance. Her hand shifted to Louise's bony little shoulder; through the thin blouse she could feel the driven blood pulsing. She did not move till she felt the child regaining comparative calm, when, giving her a gentle push towards her place, she walked slowly to the head of the table and seated herself. The class watched her furtively. It was quite aware that all rules of decorum had been transgressed--that pains and penalties would be in order with any other mistress. But with Miss Hartill there was always glorious uncertainty--and Miss Hartill did not look annoyed. Little gestures began to break the tension and Agatha, relieved, smiled a shade too broadly. Instantly Clare closed with her.
"Agatha, I thought you could read aloud better than that. You are not doing your work justice. Pass me your essay."
"Ah, I see. And you kindly read it to us for her? It's a pity you didn't understand what you read--but an excuse, of course. Louise must not expect too much."
"Oh, I understood it all right. I thought it was silly."
Now Clare, as she corrected and commented upon the weekly essays, did occasionally, if the mood took her, read extracts, humorous chiefly, therefrom; but it had never been customary for a pupil to read her own work aloud. Agatha had the pioneer spirit--but she was no fool. She comprehended that, with Clare inimical, she could climb no higher than the pillory. She fell back upon the tradition of the school.
Agatha protested redly, her fear of ridicule outweighing her fear of Clare.
"Miss Hartill, I simply couldn't. Before everybody--all this tosh--I mean all this stuff I wrote. It's a written essay. I couldn't make it sound right aloud."
"It's not good enough, Miss Hartill. Honestly! And we never have. You've never made us. I couldn't."