The winter term at Hamchester ends the day after the College concert. There is always a great gathering of old Hamchestrians at this function, and the accommodation of the houses is taxed to its utmost. B. House sent more boys to Woolwich than any other in the College, but that year the cadets did not get their leave till three days after the College, and so could not manage to get down for it. Therefore B. House was not quite so packed as usual, though there was a fair sprinkling of old boys who were at the 'Varsity or out in the world.

Lallie sang at the concert, and received a tremendous ovation. She had, herself, set to music four verses of Kipling's--

    "Let us now praise famous men,
    Men of little showing"--

and the tune, stately yet jubilant, marched in swinging measure to a triumphant conclusion. Not one word in the whole four verses did the audience miss, and the boys yelled "encore" with one prodigious voice.

The programme was a long one, encores were "strictly forbidden," and the restriction was perfectly reasonable; but the boys simply refused to let the next item on the programme begin. Hamchester School had made up its mind that it wanted Lallie to sing again, and no power on earth can stop six hundred boys with good lungs when they fairly get going.

Dr. Wentworth was annoyed; Tony Bevan was furious, for his house had never before really got out of hand, and there was no doubt whatever that it was ringleader in the tremendous din that followed Lallie's singing. Of course she was radiant; this flying in the face of all authority was after her own heart. She was trembling with excitement when at last, in sheer desperation, Dr. Wentworth led her up on to the platform to give the boys their way.

She chose as her song, "Should he upbraid," and sang at the Principal in the most bare-faced manner. A ripple of mirth ran over the audience, and then, as the liquid, seductive notes rolled out so smoothly and soothingly, Dr. Wentworth's annoyance subsided and he actually turned and beamed at his boisterous boys. Tony's grim face relaxed, and by the time the song was ended the masters had recovered their good humour and the boys were forgiven.

Next day the school went home, the bulk of the boys by a special train at mid-day. Miss Foster was to leave at tea-time, and Lallie by an afternoon train for Woolwich, where she was to stay with a certain general and his wife, old friends of her father.

Tony Bevan had made no plans. He had half promised to go and shoot with Paddy over in Kerry, but he was not sufficiently sure of himself to make up his mind. He felt slack and tired, old and depressed.

When the last batch of boys had filled the last long string of cabs, Lallie went up to the matron's room. That much-tried woman was sitting exhausted at her table, turning over some of her interminable lists. Lallie sat down opposite to her and laid her hand on the one that held the list.

"You've done enough for one morning," she said. "Rest now for a minute and listen to me. You've been endlessly good to me, Matron, dear, and I don't know how to thank you. I have been so happy here, and now it has all come to an end I feel very sad. I really think B. House is the nicest place on earth, and I'm frightfully sorry to go."

"But you're coming back next term, Miss Clonmell--why, we'll all be together again in no time. There's no need to look so melancholy about it."

Lallie shook her head.

"I'm not at all sure that I'll come back. It seems to me, especially lately, that my being here is rather a worry to Tony. I seem to vex him without meaning to--and I suppose I am a bit in the way. It has lately begun to dawn upon me that Miss Foster is perfectly right. You don't want 'stray girls' in a house like this."

The matron looked mysterious, she nodded her head thrice, and there was an "I-could-an'-I-would" air about her extremely provocative of curiosity.

"Why do you look like that, Matron, dear? I won't rest till you tell me. Why do you wag your head so solemnly?"

"Have you no idea, Miss Clonmell, what is the matter with Mr. Bevan?"

"I don't know that there's anything the matter with him except that he's a bit tired of term, and perhaps of me, and having to be Uncle Emileen for such a long stretch of country."

"You're very fond of Mr. Bevan, aren't you, Miss Clonmell?"

"Fond of Tony? I adore Tony! there's nobody like him."

"Has it never occurred to you that perhaps Mr. Bevan----"

Matron paused. She was the soul of discretion, and in view of the daring step she contemplated, she stopped short aghast.

"Perhaps what--What about Tony?"

"Has it never struck you that perhaps Mr. Bevan may be feeling like some of those other young gentlemen who are so much taken up with you--only in his case, being older, it's a much more serious matter."

The lovely colour flooded Lallie's face. Her hand tightened on Matron's, and she gazed at her in breathless silence for a full minute.

"Do you mean," she whispered, "that you think Tony cares for me like that?"

"I am perfectly sure of it," said Matron; "and if you are sure you can never care for him 'like that'; I certainly think it would be kinder of you not to come back next term."

Lallie's eyes were shining; she was very pale again as she suddenly leant across the little table and kissed the matron.

Without another word she went out of the room.

She had lunch a............