“What did she call Ida’s mother?” inquired Miss Rutherford, all at once changing her look curiously.

“She called her a bad woman.”

“Was that all?”

“No, please, Miss Rutherford,” put in Maud eagerly.  “She said she got her living in the streets.  And it isn’t true.  Ida’s mother’s a lady, and doesn’t sell things in the streets!”

The teacher looked down and was silent.

“I don’t think I need ask any more questions,” she said presently.  “Run away home all of you.  What is it, my dear?”

Maud, she was about eleven, and small for her age, had remained behind, and was looking anxiously up into Miss Rutherford’s face.

“May I wait for Ida, please,” she asked, “and—­and walk home with her?  We go the same way.”

“Not to-night, dear; no, not to-night.  Ida Starr is in disgrace.  She will not go home just yet.  Run away, now, there’s a good girl.”

Sadly, sadly was the command obeyed, and very slowly did Maud Enderby walk along the streets homeward, ever turning back to see whether perchance Ida might not be behind her.

Miss Rutherford ascended to her sitting-room.  The culprit was standing in a corner with her face to the wall.

“Why do you stand so?” asked the teacher gravely, but not very severely.

“I thought you’d want me to, Miss Rutherford.”

“Come here to me, child.”

Ida had clearly been crying for a long time, and there was still blood on her face.  She seemed to have made up her mind that the punishment awaiting her must be dreadful, and she resolved to bear it humbly.  She came up, still holding her hands behind her, and stood with downcast eyes.  The hair which hung down over her shoulders was dark brown, her eye-brows strongly marked, the eyes themselves rather deep-set.  She wore a pretty plum-coloured dress, with a dainty little apron in front; her whole appearance bespeaking a certain taste and love of elegance in the person who had the care of her.

“You will be glad to hear,” said Miss Rutherford, “that Harriet’s hurt is not as serious as we feared at first.  But she will have to stay at home for some days.”

There was no motion. or reply.

“Do you know that I am quite afraid of you, Ida?  I had no idea that you were so passionate.  Had you no thought what harm you might do when you struck that terrible blow?”

But Ida could not converse; no word was to be got from her.

“You must go home now,” went on the schoolmistress after a pause, “and not come back till I send for you.  Tell your mother just what you have done, and say that I will write to her about you.  You understand what I say, my child?”

The punishment had come upon her.  Nothing worse than this had Ida imagined; nay, nothing so bad.  She drew in her breath, her fingers wreathed themselves violently together behind her back.  She half raised her face, but could not resolve to meet her teacher’s eyes.  On the permission to go being repeated, she left the room in silence, descended the stairs with the slow steps of an old person, dressed herself mechanically, and went out into the street.  Miss Rutherford stood for some time in profound and troubled thought, then sighed as she returned to her usual engagements.