Perkins checked her with a gentle motion of his hand.
He was always most gentle when most inexorable. "You did not obey
me when I first ordered you to tell me the writer. You cannot
have the privilege of doing so now. Open the note, take the
chalk, and do as I command you."
Worms will turn, and even meek, mild, obedient little souls like
Cecily may be goaded to the point of wild, sheer rebellion.
"I--I won't!" she cried passionately.
Mr. Perkins, martinet though he was, would hardly, I think, have
inflicted such a punishment on Cecily, who was a favourite of his,
had he known the real nature of that luckless missive. But, as he
afterwards admitted, he thought it was merely a note from some
other girl, of such trifling sort as school-girls are wont to
write; and moreover, he had already committed himself to the
decree, which, like those of Mede and Persian, must not alter. To
let Cecily off, after her mad defiance, would be to establish a
revolutionary precedent.
"So you really think you won't?" he queried smilingly. "Well, on
second thoughts, you may take your choice. Either you will do as
I have bidden you, or you will sit for three days with"--Mr.
Perkins' eye skimmed over the school-room to find a boy who was
sitting alone--"with Cyrus Brisk.
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