Over some of the girls of the Great Shirley School there passed that morning a curious wave of excitement. Those girls who had joined Kathleen's society were almost now more or less in a state of tension. Once a week they were to meet in the quarry; once a week, whatever the weather, in the dead of night, they were to meet in this sequestered spot. They knew well that if they were discovered they would run a very great chance of being expelled from the school; for although they were day scholars, yet integrity of conduct was essential to their maintaining their place in that great school which gave them so liberal an education, in some cases without any fees, in all other cases with very small ones. One of the great ideas of the school was to encourage brave actions, unselfish deeds, nobility of mind. Those girls who possessed any talent or any specially strong characteristic had every chance offered to them in the Great Shirley School; their futures were more or less assured, for the governors of the school had powers to give grants to the clever girls, to award scholarships for which all might compete, and to encourage industry, honesty, and charitable ideas as far as possible.

Kathleen, when she entered the school and started her society, had not the slightest idea that, while she was trying to help the foundationers, she was really leading them into very grave mischief. But several of the foundationers themselves knew this; nevertheless the fun of the whole thing, the particular fascination which Kathleen herself exercised over her followers, kept them her undeniable slaves, and not for the world would any of them have left her now that they had sworn fealty to her cause. So Kathleen had thought when she left the house that morning; but as she entered the school she knew that one girl, and that the girl whom she most cared for, had decided to choose the thorny path which led far from Kathleen and her company.

"In addition to everything else, she is quite mean," thought the little girl, and during that morning's lessons she occupied herself far more in flashing angry glances in the direction of Ruth one minute, and at Cassandra the next, than in attending to what she was about. Kathleen had been given much by Nature. Her father was a very rich man; she had been brought up with great freedom, but also with certain bold liberal ideas as regards the best in life and conduct. She was a very beautiful girl, and she was warm-hearted and amiable. As for her talents, she had a certain charm which does more for a woman than any amount of ordinary ability; and she had a passionate and great love for music. Kathleen's musical genius was already spoken of with much approbation by the rest of the school. The girls used to ask her to improvise. Kathleen could improvise in almost any style, in almost any fashion. She could make the piano sob with her heart-rendering notes; and again she could bring forth music clear and fairy-like. Again she would lead the tender and solemn strains of the march; and again she would dance over the keys so lightly, so ravishingly, that the girls kept time with their feet to her notes. The music mistress was anxious that Kathleen should try for a musical scholarship, and she had some ideas of doing so herself. But to-day she felt cross, and even her music was at fault.

"I can't do it," she said, looking Miss Spicer full in the face. "It means such drudgery, and I don't believe I'd play a bit better if I did."

"That is certainly not the case, Kathleen," said Miss Spicer. "Knowledge must be of assistance. You have great talent; if you add to that real musical knowledge you can do almost anything."

"But I don't think I much care to. I can play on the piano to imitate any birds that ever sung at home, and father loves that. I can play all the dead-marches to make mother cry, and I can play—oh, such dance music for Aunt Katie O'Flynn! It doesn't matter that I should know more, does it?"

"I can't agree with you. It would be a very great pleasure to me if I saw you presented with a musical scholarship."

"Would it?" said Kathleen, glancing at the thin and careworn face of the music teacher.

"You don't know what it would mean to me," answered Miss Spicer. "It is seldom that one has the pleasure of teaching real talent, and I can't say how refreshing it is to me to hear you play as you do. But I want you to improve; I want you to be a credit to me."

"I'd like to please you, of course," said Kathleen. She spoke gently, and then she added: "But there is only one piano at the Tennants', and that is in the drawing-room, and Alice or the boys or Mrs. Tennant are always there. I have not many opportunities to practice."

"I live in the same terrace," said Miss Spicer eagerly, "and my piano is hardly ever used. If you only would come and make use of it. There is a fire in my sitting-room, and you could come at any hour whenever you have a fancy. Will you? It would be a great pleasure to me."

"You are very kind. Yes, I will come."

Kathleen bent towards the music mistress and, somewhat to that lady's astonishment, printed a kiss on her forehead. The kiss went right down into Miss Spicer's somewhat frozen heart.

Immediately after school that day Cassandra held out her hand to Ruth. Ruth went up to her gravely.

"Well, Ruth," she said, "have you decided? I hope you have. You told me you would let me know to-day."

"I have, Cassandra," said Ruth.

Kathleen, who was standing not far away, suddenly darted forward and stood within a foot of the two girls.

"Have you really decided, Ruth?" she said. Her tone was imperious. Ruth felt her gentle heart beat high. She turned and looked with dignity first at Kathleen and then at Cassandra.

"I will join you, Cassandra," she said.—"Kathleen, I told you this morning what my decision was."

"And I hate you!" said Kathleen. She tossed her head and walked away.

Cassandra waited until she was out of hearing.

"You look very pale, dear Ruth," she said. "Come home with me, won't you?"

Ruth did not speak. Cassandra laid her hand on her arm.

"Why, you are trembling," she said. "What has that horrid girl done to you?"

"Nothing—nothing."

"But she has."

"Please, Cassie, she is not horrid."

"Oh, well, we won't discuss her. She is not my sort. Won't you come and have lunch with me, and we can arrange everything? You are going to take advantage of mother's offer?"

"I can't help myself. It is much too good to be refused. It means—I can't tell you what it means to me, Cassie. If I can only get a scholarship I shall be able to help grandfather. And yet—I must tell you the truth—I was very nearly declining it."

"I don't think I should ever have spoken to you again if you had."

"Even so, I was very nearly declining it; for you know I could not have accepted your offer and been friends with Kathleen O'Hara in the way she wants me to be. Now I am very fond of Kathleen, and if I could please myself I would retain her friendship. But you know, grandfather has lost some more money. He heard about it two nights ago, and that made me make up my mind. Of course I love you, Cassie. I have loved you ever since I came to the school. You have been so very, very kind to me. But had I the choice I would have stayed with Kathleen."

"Well, it is all a mystery to me," said Cassandra. "I don't like Kathleen; I will frankly say so. I don't think she has a good influence in the school. That sort of very rich popular girl always makes mischief. It is far better for the school not to have anybody like her in its midst. She has the power of attracting people, but she has also the power of making enemies. It is my opinion she will get into very serious trouble before she leaves Great Shirley School. I shall be sorry for her, of course."

"But what do you mean? What sort of trouble can she get into?"

"There are whispers about her that I don't quite understand. But if it were known that she does lead other girls astray, she would be had up before the governors, and then she would not find herself in a very pleasant position."

Ruth did not say anything. Her face turned white. Cassandra glanced at her, uttered a quick sigh, and resumed:

"Whether you like it or not, I am glad you are out of the whole thing. I should hate you to get into trouble. You are so clever, and so different from the others, that you are certain to succeed. And now let us hurry home. I must tell you all about our scheme. You must come to me every day; Miss Renshaw will be with us each evening from six to seven. Oh! you don't know how happy you are making me."

Ruth smiled and tried to look cheerful.

Mrs. Weldon came out to meet the two girls as they entered the pretty little cottage. Her face was smiling.

"Ah, Cassandra!" she said, "now you will be happy."

"Yes; Ruth has accepted our offer."

"Indeed I have, Mrs. Weldon," said Ruth; "and I scarcely know how to thank you."

"Come in, dear, and have some dinner.—Cassandra, I have just heard from Miss Renshaw, and she is coming this afternoon.—You can either stay, Ruth, when dinner is over, or come back again."

"I will come back," said Ruth. "Granny is not very well, and I ought not to have left her, even to have dinner here; but I couldn't help myself."

Cassandra brought her friend into the house. They had a pleasant meal together, and Ruth tried to forget that she had absolutely quarrelled with Kathleen, and that Kathleen's heart was half-broken on her account.

But Kathleen herself was determined not to give way to any real feelings of misery on account of Ruth's desertion.

"I have no time to think about it," she said to herself.

When she returned to the house she found a telegram waiting for her. She tore it open. It was from Aunt Katie O'Flynn:

"I have arrived. Come and have dinner with me to-night at the Métropole, and bring any friend you like."

"What a lark!" thought Kathleen. "And what a chance for Ruth if only she had been different! Oh, dear! I suppose I must ask Alice to come with me."

"Whom is your telegram from, dear?" asked Mrs. Tennant, coming up to her at that moment.

Alice was standing in the dining-room devouring a book of Greek history. She held it close to her eyes, which were rather short-sighted.

"It's from Aunt Katie O'Flynn. She has come, the darling!" said Kathleen. "She wants me to go to London to dine with her to-night. Of course I'll go.—- You will come with me, won't you, Alice? She says I am to bring some one."

"No, I can't come," said Alice; "and for that matter no more can you. It takes quite thirty-five minutes to get to Charing Cross, and then you have to get to the Métropole. We girls are not allowed to go to London by ourselves."

"As if that mattered."

"It matters to me, if it does not to you. Anyhow, here is a note for you. It is from Miss Ravenscroft, our head-mistress. I rather fancy that will decide matters."

Kathleen tore open the note which Alice had handed to her. She read the following words:

"Dear Miss O'Hara,—I should be glad if you would come round to see me at six o'clock this evening. I have something of importance to say to you."

"What can she mean?" said Kathleen. "I scarcely know Miss Ravenscroft. I just spoke to her the first day I went to the school."

"She has asked me too. What can it be about?" said Alice.

"Then you can take a message from me; I am not going," said Kathleen.

"What?" cried Alice. "I don't think even you will dare to defy the head-mistress. Why, my dear Kathleen, you will never get over it. This is madness.—Mother, do speak to her."

"What is it, dear?" said Mrs. Tennant, coming forward.

Alice explained.

"And Kathleen says she won't go?"

"Of course I won't go, dear Mrs. Tennant. On the contrary, you and I will go together to see Aunt Katie O'Flynn. She is my aunt, and I wouldn't slight her for all the world. She'd never forgi............