“If you say that I—­that word—­again, Amelia Harvey,” she said slowly, “I will strike you.”

“Why, Anne Lewis!” exclaimed the shocked voice of Miss Morris who was sitting at her desk, correcting exercises.  “What a wicked speech!”

Anne was unrepentant.  “She shall not say—­that,” she said.  “She is wicked to tell such a falsehood.”

“I want my money,” persisted Amelia.

“How much money did you have in your purse, Amelia?” asked Miss Morris.  “Think now.  Be sure.”

“I had two two-franc pieces,” insisted Amelia, “and one is gone.”

“You had two yeth’day,” lisped Elsie Hart, who had just come in.  “And you bought a boxth of chocolath.”

Amelia reddened.  “I—­I’d forgot,” she muttered.

“Forgot!  Amelia!  You spent your money and then accused your schoolmate of taking it!” Miss Morris exclaimed indignantly.  “You are a careless, careless, bad, bad girl.  You ought to be ashamed of yourself.  You must beg Anne to forgive you.”

“I’ll not forgive her, not if she asks me a thousand years,” stormed Anne.

“Anne, Anne,” reproved Miss Morris.  “What a bitter, revengeful spirit!  It makes me unhappy to hear you speak so.”

“I don’t care.  I’m unhappy.  I want everybody else to be unhappy,” said Anne, as she left the room, sobbing as if her heart would break.

CHAPTER XI

The long days dragged by and brought at last the Christmas holidays.  Mrs. Patterson was stronger.  She was able to join the shopping excursion, waiting in the carriage while Miss Drayton came in to get Anne.

Miss Drayton exclaimed at sight of the pale little face.

“What is the matter with her, Mademoiselle Duroc?” she inquired anxiously.  “She has not been ill?  Has she been studying too hard?”

“She studies,” answered Mademoiselle; “but she thrived till the month ago.  There is a matter which I must beg leave to discuss with you and madame your sister.”

The little hand which lay in Miss Drayton’s twitched and clung tight.  Miss Drayton smiled protectingly at the child, who looked like a quivering rabbit cowering before hunting dogs.  “If it be a matter of broken rules—­or anything unpleasant—­let us pass it by, Mademoiselle Duroc.  If you please!  This is Christmas, you know.”

“The matter is too serious to ignore,” protested Mademoiselle.

“If it must be,” Miss Drayton yielded reluctantly.  “But we must not spoil our Christmas.  And, really, my sister is still too unwell to be annoyed.  After Christmas, if it must be.”

“After Christmas, then,” Mademoiselle submitted.

Anne threw herself into Mrs. Patterson’s arms in an ecstasy of delight.  “I’m so glad that it hurts,” she exclaimed.  “I’d forgot what good times there are in the world.”

“Let me hold Honey-Sweet.  She’s too heavy for you,” urged Pat.