There was some hesitation among them, each offering the other precedence.  At last they went up slowly, in the order, though not at all in the manner, of their flying descent; followed Miss Wilson into the class-room; and stood in a row before her, illumined through three western windows with a glow of ruddy orange light.  Miss Carpenter, the largest of the three, was red and confused.  Her arms hung by her sides, her fingers twisting the folds of her dress.  Miss Gertrude Lindsay, in pale sea-green, had a small head, delicate complexion, and pearly teeth.  She stood erect, with an expression of cold distaste for reproof of any sort.  The holland dress of the third offender had changed from yellow to white as she passed from the gray eastern twilight on the staircase into the warm western glow in the room.  Her face had a bright olive tone, and seemed to have a golden mica in its composition.  Her eyes and hair were hazel-nut color; and her teeth, the upper row of which she displayed freely, were like fine Portland stone, and sloped outward enough to have spoilt her mouth, had they not been supported by a rich under lip, and a finely curved, impudent chin.  Her half cajoling, half mocking air, and her ready smile, were difficult to confront with severity; and Miss Wilson knew it; for she would not look at her even when attracted by a convulsive start and an angry side glance from Miss Lindsay, who had just been indented between the ribs by a finger tip.

“You are aware that you have broken the rules,” said Miss Wilson quietly.

“We didn’t intend to.  We really did not,” said the girl in holland, coaxingly.

“Pray what was your intention then, Miss Wylie?”

Miss Wylie unexpectedly treated this as a smart repartee instead of a rebuke.  She sent up a strange little scream, which exploded in a cascade of laughter.

“Pray be silent, Agatha,” said Miss Wilson severely.  Agatha looked contrite.  Miss Wilson turned hastily to the eldest of the three, and continued: 

“I am especially surprised at you, Miss Carpenter.  Since you have no desire to keep faith with me by upholding the rules, of which you are quite old enough to understand the necessity, I shall not trouble you with reproaches, or appeals to which I am now convinced that you would not respond,” (here Miss Carpenter, with an inarticulate protest, burst into tears); “but you should at least think of the danger into which your juniors are led by your childishness.  How should you feel if Agatha had broken her neck?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Agatha, putting her hand quickly to her neck.

“I didn’t think there was any danger,” said Miss Carpenter, struggling with her tears.  “Agatha has done it so oft—­oh dear! you have torn me.”  Miss Wylie had pulled at her schoolfellow’s skirt, and pulled too hard.

“Miss Wylie,” said Miss Wilson, flushing slightly, “I must ask you to leave the room.”

“Oh, no,” exclaimed Agatha, clasping her hands in distress.  “Please don’t, dear Miss Wilson.  I am so sorry.  I beg your pardon.”