Agatha closed her lips, drew in a long breath through her nostrils, and
marched to within a few feet of Miss Wilson, where she halted with her
hands clasped before her.

"Sit down."

Agatha sat down with a single movement, like a doll.

"I don't understand that, Agatha," said Miss Wilson, pointing to the
entry in the Recording Angel. "What does it mean?"

"I am unfairly treated," said Agatha, with signs of agitation.

"In what way?"

"In every way. I am expected to be something more than mortal. Everyone
else is encouraged to complain, and to be weak and silly. But I must
have no feeling. I must be always in the right. Everyone else may be
home-sick, or huffed, or in low spirits. I must have no nerves, and must
keep others laughing all day long. Everyone else may sulk when a word
of reproach is addressed to them, and may make the professors afraid to
find fault with them. I have to bear with the insults of teachers who
have less self-control than I, a girl of seventeen! and must coax
them out of the difficulties they make for themselves by their own ill
temper."

"But, Agatha--"

"Oh, I know I am talking nonsense, Miss Wilson; but can you expect me to
be always sensible--to be infallible?"