half to herself:

"Cecil is not like the rocky sweetmeat; I was mistaken in her."

Neither had Cecil seen the flash of almost triumph in Hester's eyes, nor
the defiant glance she threw at Miss Forest. Annie stood with her hands
clasped, and a little frown of perplexity between her brows, for a
moment; then she ran fearlessly down the play-room, and said in a low
voice at the other side of Cecil's curtains:

"May I come in?"

Cecil said "Yes," and Annie, entering the pretty little drawing-room,
flung her arms round Miss Temple's neck.

"Cecil," she exclaimed impulsively, "you're in great trouble. I am a
giddy, reckless thing, I know, but I don't laugh at people when they are
in real trouble. Won't you tell me all about it, Cecil?"

"I will, Annie. Sit down there and I will tell you everything. I think
you have a right to know, and I am glad you have come to me. I thought
perhaps--but no matter. Annie, can't you guess what I am going to say?"

"No, I'm sure I can't," said Annie. "I saw for a moment or two to-day
that some of those absurd girls suspected me of being the author of all
this mischief. Now, you know, Cecil, I love a bit of fun beyond words. If
there's any going on I feel nearly mad until I am in it; but what was
done to-day was not at all in accordance with my ideas of fun. To tear up
Miss Russell's essay and fill her desk with stupid plum-cake and Turkish
delight seems to me but a sorry kind of jest. Now, if I had been guilty
of that sort of thing, I'd have managed something far cleverer than that.
If _I_ had tampered with Dora Russell's desk, I'd have done the thing in
style. The dear, sweet, dignified creature should have shrieked in real
terror. You don't know, perhaps, Cecil, that our admirable Dora is no end
of a coward. I wonder what she would have said if I had put a little nest
of field-mice in her desk! I saw that the poor thing suspected me, as she
gave way to her usual little sneer about the 'under-bred girl;' but, of
course, _you_ know me, Cecil. Why, my dear Cecil, what is the matter? How
white you are, and you are actually crying! What is it, Cecil? what is
it, Cecil, darling?"

Cecil dried her eyes quickly.

"You know my pet copy of Mrs. Browning's poems, don't you, Annie?"

"Oh, yes, of course. You lent it to me one day. Don't you remember how
you made me cry over that picture of little Alice, the over-worked
factory girl? What about the book, Cecil?"

"I found the book in my desk