Emily rather sleepy for the day, especially as she had studied late the two previous nights. Aunt Ruth relaxed her rigid rules in examination time and permitted an extra allowance of candles. What she would have said had she known that Emily used some of the extra candle-light to write a poem on Shadows I do not know and cannot record. But no doubt she would have considered it an added proof of slyness. Perhaps it was sly. Remember that I am only Emily’s biographer, not her apologist.
Emily found Evelyn Blake in Ilse’s room and Evelyn Blake was secretly much annoyed because she had not been invited to the snowshoe dance and Emily Starr had. Therefore Evelyn, sitting on Ilse’s table and swinging her high, silken-sheathed instep flauntingly in the face of girls who had no silk stockings, was prepared to be disagreeable.
“I’m glad you’ve come, trusty and well-beloved,” moaned Ilse. “Evelyn has been clapper-clawing me all the morning. Perhaps she’ll whirl in at you now and give me a rest.”
“I have been telling her that she should learn to control her temper,” said Evelyn virtuously. “Don’t you agree with me, Miss Starr?”
“What have you been doing now, Ilse?” asked Emily.
“Oh, I had a large quarrel with Mrs. Adamson this morning. It was bound to come sooner or later. I’ve been good so long there was an awful lot of wickedness bottled up in me. Mary knew that, didn’t you, Mary? Mary felt quite sure an explosion was due to happen. Mrs. Adamson began it by asking disagreeable questions. She’s always doing that—isn’t she, Mary? After that she started in scolding—and finally she cried. Then I slapped her face.”
“You see,” said Evelyn, significantly.
“I couldn’t help it,” grinned Ilse. “I could have endured her impertinence and her scolding—but when she
