21 Daphne, Ellen—and Miss Grayling
Miss Grayling made her way to the San. She spoke¹ to Matron, who nodded. “Yes, Daphne is quite all right now. She has just got up.”
The Head Mistress² told Matron to take Daphne into the next room, where they would be alone. Daphne went, helped along by Matron, and sat down in an armchair, wondering rather fearfully what the visit was about. Miss Grayling looked so serious.
“Daphne,” said the Head, “these things were found in the parcel that Mary-Lou went to post for you. You had packed them up yourself. Where did you get them? And why did you want to send them away?”
She suddenly tipped the purses and the little boxes on to Daphne’s knee. The girl stared at them in absolute horror. She went very pale and opened her mouth to speak. But no words came.
“Shall I tell you where you got them from?” said Miss Grayling. “You took them out of desks and lockers³ and drawers. You spent the money, Daphne. You did, in fact, exactly what you have done in two other schools, which had quietly intimated to your parents that they would rather have you removed. But they did not tell your parents why.”
“How did you know?” whispered Daphne, her once pretty face white and haggard.
“It is the custom at Malory Towers to get a confidential⁴ report of any new girl’s character from her previous head mistress,” said Miss Grayling. “We do not, if we can help it, take girls of bad character, Daphne.”
“Why did you take me then?” asked Daphne, not daring to meet the Head’s eyes.
“Because, Daphne, your last head mistress said that you were not all bad,” said Miss Grayling. “She said that perhaps a fresh start in a fine school like this, with its traditions of service for others, for justice, kindliness⁵ and truthfulness⁶, might help you to cancel out the bad and develop the good. And I like to give people a chance.”
“I see,” said Daphne. “But I’m worse than you think, Miss Grayling. I haven’t only stolen—I’ve told lies. I said I’d never been to another school before, because I was afraid the girls might get to know I’d been sent home twice from schools. I pretended my people were very rich. I—I had a photo on my dressing-table that wasn’t my mother at all—it was a very grand picture of a beautiful woman . . .”

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