THE ACCUSATION
Adrienne's prediction that a few moments with Marian Seaton would
effectually banish Elsie Noble's remorse, provided she felt remorse,
proved not altogether correct. The beginning on next day of the mid-year
examinations served as a partial escape valve for Elsie's feeling of
deep humiliation.
By the end of the week she was divided between remorse and resentment.
The latter over-swaying her, she fell back on Marian for sympathy.
Marian's sympathy was not specially satisfying. She actually laughed
over Elsie's aggrieved narration of the affair of the dress closet, and
coolly informed her cousin that she should have locked _her_ door before
attempting any such maneuver.
The only grain of consolation which she bestowed was, "You needn't feel
so bad about what those sillies think of you. They'll have something
more serious to think about before long. It's high time Maiz and I took
a hand in things."
"What are you going to do?" Elsie sulkily demanded.
"You'll know when the time comes," was the brusque reply.
A reply that sent Elsie back to her room, sullenly wondering what Marian
was "up to" now. Strangely enough, Marian's vague threat awoke within
her a curious sense of uneasiness. She was not so keen for retaliation
now. She darkly surmised that Marian intended somehow to make trouble
for Judith Stearns and Norma about the last year's affair of the stolen
gown. Once she had been ready to believe Marian's assertion that Judith
had been guilty of theft. She was not nearly so ready now to believe it.
As for Norma! Elsie could still see Norma's sweet face, with its gentle
blue eyes pityingly bent on her. Marian might say all she pleased. Norma
Bennett was fine and honest to the core. She had always secretly admired
Norma for her wonderful talent. Now she admired Norma for herself. If
Marian undertook to injure Norma----Elsie set her thin lips in a
fashion denoting decision.
Mid-year came and went, however, with nothing to disturb the outward
serenity of Madison Hall. A brief season of jubilation followed the
trial of examinations. The new college term began with the usual flurry
accompanying the rearranging of recitation programs and getting settled
in classes. Basket-ball ardor was revived and practice resumed by the
freshman and sophomore teams, pending the second game to be played on
the third Saturday in February.
On the Monday evening before the game, Marian Seaton and Maizie Gilbert
held a private session with Mrs. Weatherbee. It lasted for half an hour
and when the two girls emerged from the matron's office, they left
behind them a most shocked and perplexed woman. The story which they had
related to her would have seemed preposterous, save that it touched upon
a private matter of her own that had of late vaguely annoyed her.
For some time after the two had left her office, she wrestled with the
difficulty which confronted her. Nor had she decided upon a course of
action when she retired that night. For two days she continued in doubt,
before she was able to make up her mind regarding the handling of the
troublesome problem.
After dinner on Wednesday evening she sent the maid upstairs with
certain instructions and promptly retired to her room.
"Mrs. Weatherbee wants to see us in _her room_?" marveled Judith,
addressing Molly, the maid who had delivered the message. "Are you sure
she said her _room_?"
"Yes, Miss Judith. That's what she said," returned Molly positively.
"She said please come right away."
"That means us." Judith turned to Jane as Molly vanished. "Now why do
you suppose she wants to see us in her room? She must have something
very private to say or she'd talk with us in her office."
"I don't like it at all!" Jane exclaimed with knitted brows.
"Something's gone wrong. But what? Can you think of any reason for it?"
"No, I can't. We haven't committed any horrible crimes that I can
recall," returned Judith lightly. "Come on. We might as well go and find
out the meaning of this thusness. We should worry. We haven't done
anything to deserve a call-down."
One look at Mrs. Weatherbee's grave face as she admitted them to her
room convinced both that something disagreeable was impending.
"Sit down, girls," the matron invited, in her usual reserved fashion. "I
have sent for Miss Bennett. She will be here in a moment."
This merely added to Jane's and Judith's perplexity. Jane shot a
bewildered glance toward Judith, as the two silently seated themselves.
Directly a light rapping at the door announced Norma's arrival. She was
also formally greeted and requested to take a seat.
For a moment the matron surveyed the trio as though undetermined how to
address them. When she finally spoke, there was a note of hesitation in
her voice.
"A very peculiar story has been told me," she said, "which intimately
concerns you three girls, particularly Miss Stearns. Much as I dislike
the idea, I am obliged, as matron of Madison Hall, to investigate it.
"Certain students at the Hall have made very serious charges against
you, Miss Stearns. These charges are partially based on something that
occurred here last year, of which I had no knowledge. I----"
"_Mrs. Weatherbee!_ I insist on knowing at once what these charges
are!"
Judith was on her feet, her usually good-natured face dark with
righteous indignation.
"Sit down, Miss Stearns," commanded the matron not ungently. "I intend
to go into this unpleasant matter fully with you. A valuable diamond
ring belonging to Miss Seaton and a diamond and sapphire pin belonging
to Miss Gilbert have disappeared. Though 'Lost' notices were posted
regarding these articles, their owners have come to me stating their
private belief that you are responsible for their disappearance."
"But surely you can't believe any such thing about me!" Judith cried out
in distress. "Do you realize that those two girls actually accuse _me_
of being a _thief_?"
"Wait a moment, please." The matron raised a protesting hand. "Let me
finish what I wished to say. Miss Seaton does not believe you guilty of
intentional theft. She accused you of being a kleptomaniac. She also
accuses Miss Allen and Miss Bennett of knowing it and aiding you in
keeping your failing a secret."
"What?" almost shouted Judith.
"Oh, this is too much!" It was Jane who now sprang furiously up from her
chair, her gray eyes flashing. "I won't endure it. I insist, Mrs.
Weatherbee, that you send for these girls and let us face them."
"Yes, send for them! I won't leave this room until Marian Seaton takes
back every single thing she's said about me," was Judith's wrathful
ultimatum.
"I was about to suggest when you and Miss Allen interrupted me that I
had thought it advisable to bring you girls together. Still, I deemed it
only fair to let you understand the situation beforehand," stated the
matron rather stiffly. "I have already sent Miss Seaton and Miss Gilbert
word to come here at eight o'clock. It lacks only five minutes of eight.
They will be here directly. We will not go further in this matter until
they come. You will oblige me by resuming your chairs."
Mrs. Weatherbee's expression was that of a martyr. She was in for a very
disagreeable session and she knew it. Marian's accusation against Judith
made necessary an investigation. It had come to a point where Judith's
honesty must be either conclusively proved or disproved beyond all
shadow of doubt. If Judith, as Marian boldly declared, were really a
kleptomaniac, she was a menace to Madison Hall.
Ordinarily Mrs. Weatherbee would have been slow to believe such a
thing. The fact, however, that the silk sweater which she had intrusted
to Judith to mail had never reached its destination, had implanted
distrust in the matron's mind. To have recently learned that Judith had
been exhibiting to her girl friends a sweater that answered to the
description of the one she had knitted for her niece was decidedly in
line with her private suspicions. Neither had she forgotten Judith's
laughing assertion to the effect that she was not sure she could be
trusted not to run off with the sweater.
Jane and Judith reluctantly reseating themselves, an embarrassing
silence fell. Each of the three girls was busy racking her brain to
recall the circumstance of last year upon which Marian Seaton had based
her charge. None could bring back any of that nature in which Marian had
figured.
The sound of approaching footfalls, followed by a light knock at the
door, came as a relief to the waiting four. Next instant Marian and
Maizie had stepped into the room in response to the matron's "Come in."
A bright flush sprang to Marian's cheeks as she glimpsed the trio of
stern-faced girls. She had not anticipated being thus so quickly
brought face to face with those she had maligned. Maizie appeared
merely sleepily amused.
"Kindly be seated, girls." Mrs. Weatherbee motioned them to an
upholstered settee near the door.
Casting a baleful glance at Jane, Marian complied with the terse
invitation. Maizie dropped lazily down beside her, her slow smile in
evidence. Matters promised to be interesting.
"Miss Seaton," the matron immediately plunged into the business at hand,
"you may repeat to Miss Stearns, Miss Allen and Miss Bennett what you
have already told me concerning the affair of last year. Miss Stearns
has been informed of your charges against her. She wishes to defend
herself."
"I certainly do," emphasized Judith, "and I shall make you take it all
back, too, Miss Seaton."
"I'm sorry I can't oblige you by taking it all back," sneered Marian. "I
can merely repeat a little of a conversation that occurred between you
and Miss Allen in which you condemned yourself."
"Very well, repeat it," challenged Judith coolly.
As nearly as she could remember, Marian repeated the talk between Jane
and Judith, to which she had dishonorably listened on the night of the
freshman frolic.
"You were heard to admit that you had stolen a gown from Edith Hammond,"
she triumphantly accused. "That Edith blamed Miss Bennett and that she
confessed you had stolen it. Also that Miss Allen settled for it and you
all agreed to keep it a secret. Worse yet, you and Miss Allen only
laughed and joked about what you called 'your fatal failing.' Deny if
you can that you two had such a conversation."
During this amazing recital the faces of at least three listeners had
registered a variety of expressions. Marian's spiteful challenge met
with unexpected results. Of a sudden the trio burst into uncontrolled
laughter.
"Girls," rebuked Mrs. Weatherbee sharply, "this is hardly a time for
laughter. Miss Stearns, do you or do you not deny that you and Miss
Allen held the conversation Miss Seaton accuses you of holding?"
"Of course we did," cheerfully answered Judith, her mirthful features
sobering.
"Then you----"
"_We_ were in the dressing room on the night of the freshman frolic when
it took place," broke in Jane. "May I ask where _you_ were, Miss
Seaton, when you overheard it?"
Jane's gray eyes rested scornfully upon Marian as she flashed out her
question.
"I--I wasn't anywhere," snapped Marian. "I--someone else overheard it."
"Then 'someone else' should have taken pains to learn the truth before
spreading malicious untruth," tensely condemned Jane.
Turning to the matron, she said bitterly:
"Mrs. Weatherbee, this whole story is simply spite-work; nothing else.
When I have explained the true meaning of Judith's and my talk together
in the dressing-room, you will understand everything. Judith's fatal
failing is not kleptomania. It's merely absent-mindedness."
Rapidly Jane narrated the incident of the missing white lace gown,
belonging to Edith Hammond, in which herself, Judith and Norma had
figured in the previous year. She finished with:
"I shall ask you to write to Edith for corroboration of my story. I must
also insist on knowing the name of the girl who overheard our talk. She
must be told the facts. We cannot afford to allow such injurious gossip
to be circulated about any of us. Judith in particular. Further, it is
ridiculous even to connect her with the disappearance of Miss Seaton's
ring and Miss Gilbert's pin."
"Oh, is it?" cried Marian in shrill anger, "Just let me tell you that
both the ring and the pin were stolen from our room. We posted a notice
and offered a reward, hoping to get them back without raising a
disturbance. It's easy enough for you to make up the silly tale you've
just told. I don't believe it. You're only trying to cover the real
truth by pretending that Miss Stearns is absent-minded. It's not hard to
see through your flimsy pretext."
"That will do, Miss Seaton." Mrs. Weatherbee now took stern command of
the situation. "I have no reason to believe that Miss Allen has not
spoken the truth. This affair seems to consist largely of a
misunderstanding, coupled with a good deal of spite work. You will
oblige me by giving me the name of the girl who overheard the
conversation."
Marian did not at once reply. Instead, she cast a hasty, inquiring
glance at Maizie. The latter answered it with a slight smile and a nod
of the head.
"It was my cousin, Miss Noble, who overheard the conversation," she
reluctantly admitted. "She repeated it to me in confidence. She does
not wish to be brought into this affair. You will kindly leave her out
of it entirely."
"Your dictation is unbecoming, Miss Seaton," coldly reproved the matron.
"I shall use my own judgment in this matter."
"You are all excused," she continued, addressing the ill-assorted group.
"We will leave this matter as it stands for the present. When I have
decided what to do, I will send for you again. Until then, not a word
concerning it to anyone."
Marian and Maizie rose with alacrity. They had no desire to prolong the
interview. It had not panned out to suit them. Jane's concise
explanation of the gown incident had practically turned a serious
offense into a laughable blunder. Mrs. Weatherbee undoubtedly believed
Jane. After listening to her, she had not asked either Norma or Judith a
single question. Instead, she had closed the discussion with a curtness
that was not reassuring to the plotters.
"Elsie will have to help us out," were Marian's first words when she and
Maizie reached their room. "She'll be raving when I tell her. She'll
have to do it, though. If she doesn't, I'll threaten to tell all the
girls about the way that little French snip caught her listening at the
register."
"You might as well have owned up that it was you who listened outside
the dressing-room," shrugged Maizie. "Then you could have passed the
whole thing off as a misunderstanding. That would have ended it. Now
we're both in for a fine lot of trouble."
"Then why did you nod your head when I looked at you?" asked Marian
fiercely.
"Oh, just to keep things going," drawled Maizie. "I like to see those
girls all fussed up about nothing. Besides, Weatherbee can't do anything
very serious about our part of it. She can say we are mischief-makers
and call us down and that's all. No one except ourselves knows the truth
about the ring and the pin. That's the only thing that could really get
us into trouble."
"No one will ever know, either," declared Marian. "They're both in the
tray of my trunk. We'll take them home with us at Easter and leave them
there. That will be safest."
"You certainly leaped before you looked, this time," chuckled Maizie.
"That gown business was funny."
"Well, how was I to know? I heard Judy Stearns say she stole it,"
retorted Marian testily. "The whole thing sounded suspicious enough to
hang our losses on. Just the same I shall keep on saying now that I
believe she stole our stuff. Mrs. Weatherbee needn't think she can make
me keep quiet. I have a perfect right to my own belief and I'll see to
it that others besides myself share it."