I thought it was going to settle on Priscilla Coupland's neck and I brushed it away with my pen." Miss Pinwell could say nothing to this, especially as she distinctly heard at that moment the hum of some winged insect.

It _was_ a wasp, a real one, not the insect of Lavinia's fervid imagination.

The windows were open and it had found its way in from Lamb's Conduit Fields, at a happy moment allying itself with Lavinia.
Others heard it as well and sprang to their feet shrieking.

The chance of escaping from tiresome moral maxims was too good to be lost.
"Young ladies----" commanded Miss Pinwell, but she could get no further.
Her voice was lost in the din.

The lady no more loved wasps than did her pupils.