The moment Maggie left the room Rosalind Merton made a remark.  “Miss Peel is the only person who can explain the mystery,” she said.

“What do you mean?” asked Priscilla.

“Why, you confess yourself that you were in Miss Oliphant’s room the greater part of the evening.”

“I confess it?” remarked Priscilla; “that is a curious phrase to apply to a statement.  I confess nothing.  I was in Maggie’s room, but what of that?  When people confess things,” she added with a naivete which touched one or two of the girls, “they generally have done something wrong.  Now, what was there wrong in my sitting in my friend’s room?”

“Oh, Miss Oliphant is your friend’?” said Rosalind.

“Of course, of course.”  But here a memory came over Priscilla; she remembered Maggie’s words the night before—­ “You were my friend.”  For the first time her voice faltered and the crimson flush of distress covered her face.  Rosalind’s cruel eyes were fixed on her.

“Let me speak now,” interrupted Miss Day.  She gave Rosalind a piercing glance which caused her, in her turn, to color violently.  “It is just this, Miss Peel,” said Annie Day:  “you will excuse my speaking bluntly, but you are placed in a very unpleasant position.”

“I?  How?” asked Prissie.

“Oh, you great baby!” burst from Rosalind again.

“Please don’t speak to me in that tone, Miss Merton,” said Priscilla with a new dignity which became her well.  “Now, Miss Day, what have you to say?”

To Prissie’s surprise, at this juncture, Nancy Banister suddenly left her seat and came and stood at the back of her chair.

“I am on your side whatever happens,” she remarked.

“Thank you,” said Prissie.

“Now, please, Miss Day.”

“You must know who took the note,” said Annie Day.

“I assure you I don’t; I can’t imagine how it has disappeared.  Not a soul came into the room while I was there.  I did go away once for about three minutes to fetch my Lexicon; but I don’t suppose any one came into Miss Oliphant’s room during those few minutes—­ there was no one about to come.”

“Oh, you left the room for about three minutes?”

“Perhaps three—­ perhaps not so many.  I had left my Lexicon in the library; I went to fetch it.”

“Oh,” said Rosalind, suddenly taking the words out of Miss Day’s mouth, “when did you invent this little fiction?”

Prissie’s eyes seemed suddenly to blaze fire.  For the first time she perceived the drift of the cruel suspicion which her fellow-students were seeking to cast upon her.  “How wicked you are!” she said to Rosalind.  “Why do you look at me like that?  Miss Day, why do you smile?  Why do you all smile?  Oh, Nancy,” added poor Prissie, springing to her feet and looking full into Nancy’s troubled eyes, “what is the matter?—­ am I in a dream?”