When the dreaded inquiry took place, and all the senior girls were called into the “study” to undergo a rigorous cross-examination, she soon found that Miss Richards was very far from accepting her unsupported denial as conclusive.

“Yes, but who can bear out your statement that you did not leave the room or the house throughout the evening?” she asked sternly.

“Betty can,” said Kitty.  “Betty was in the room with me all the time.”

“Ah!  Betty!  But she is very young, and very attached to you, and would of course be prejudiced.”

Kitty’s cheeks flamed with indignation, and she had to set her teeth to keep herself from answering.

“Have you no older—­more responsible witnesses?”

“No one could be more honest and truthful than Betty,” said Kitty proudly.  “She wouldn’t dream of saying I was there if I wasn’t.”

“But your father, or your aunt—­”

“They were both out,” said Kitty.  “Anna saw me go to the schoolroom, and saw me begin my lessons, and I never moved until father came to me.”

So Anna was called.

“Can you support your cousin’s statement that she was in the schoolroom all the evening, and never once left it?”

Anna was about to say “yes,” when she hesitated, and grew very red and confused.  “I—­I couldn’t say,” she stammered, and those listening thought she was embarrassed by her desire to shield Kitty, and at the same time tell the truth.  Kitty looked at her with wide, horrified eyes.  Surely Anna would say why she could not give the required assurance.  But only too soon the conviction was borne in on her that Anna did not mean to tell, and Anna was an adept at saying nothing, yet conveying a stronger impression than if she had said much.  Those looking on read in Kitty’s horrified eyes only a fear of what Anna might admit, and opinion was strengthened against her.

“Speak out frankly, Anna,” said Miss Richards encouragingly.  “Did you notice her absence?”

“She—­a—­Kitty wasn’t there once when I went back to the room,” murmured Anna, apparently with great reluctance.

Kitty’s head reeled.  She could not believe that she had heard aright.  Anna was not only concealing her own guilt, but was actually fastening it on to her.  “I think I must be going mad, or going to faint,” she thought to herself.  “I can’t take in what they are saying.”  “But, Anna,” she cried, in her extremity forgetting judge and jury, “you know father had come to me with Miss Richards’s letter.  I was with him when you came in.”

“No,” said Anna, with a look of injured innocence, “I didn’t know.  You didn’t tell me.  Of course I—­I knew you were somewhere,” she stammered lamely.  “I don’t say you were out of the house, only—­well I couldn’t say you were in the room if you weren’t, could I?” with a glance at Miss Richards for approbation, and a half-glance at Kitty, whose gray eyes were full of a scorn that was not pleasant to meet.