"No, I'm sure I can't," said Annie. "I saw for a moment or two to-day that some of those absurd girls suspected me of being the author of all this mischief. Now, you know, Cecil, I love a bit of fun beyond words. If there's any going on I feel nearly mad until I am in it; but what was done to-day was not at all in accordance with my ideas of fun. To tear up Miss Russell's essay and fill her desk with stupid plum-cake and Turkish delight seems to me but a sorry kind of jest. Now, if I had been guilty of that sort of thing, I'd have managed something far cleverer than that. If _I_ had tampered with Dora Russell's desk, I'd have done the thing in style. The dear, sweet, dignified creature should have shrieked in real terror. You don't know, perhaps, Cecil, that our admirable Dora is no end of a coward. I wonder what she would have said if I had put a little nest of field-mice in her desk! I saw that the poor thing suspected me, as she gave way to her usual little sneer about the 'under-bred girl;' but, of course, _you_ know me, Cecil. Why, my dear Cecil, what is the matter? How white you are, and you are actually crying! What is it, Cecil? what is it, Cecil, darling?"