was only when the Hirsts' cab was at the door that she returned with the object of her quest.

Muriel was a remarkably pretty girl, slight and graceful, with eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, and long, silky, golden hair; she was generally very artistically dressed, and always looked like a picture, a fact of which she was extremely well aware. She greeted her uncle and aunt without much enthusiasm, gave Patty her cheek to kiss, and did not seem particularly delighted at having been called to speak to them.

"I expected we should have seen you before, dear," said Mrs. Hirst. "I felt quite unhappy at the idea of leaving Patty alone, but now you are here to show her the ways of The Priory, I'm sure she'll be all right. Muriel will be able to tell you everything, Patty, so I give you into her hands. Now good-bye, my darling child! Don't fret, and write to us as soon as you can. We shall be looking forward to your first letter, and please let it be a cheerful one."

CHAPTER III
First Impressions

Patty certainly felt anything but cheerful as she stood at the top of the steps to watch her father and mother drive away, though she put on a brave face, and waved a vigorous farewell.

"They've only just time to catch their train," she said, turning to Muriel. "I hope the man will go fast. It would be so tiresome for them to miss it."

"Why aren't they staying all night at the Queen's Hotel?" asked Muriel. "Father and Mother always do when they come to see me and so do most of the girls' friends."

"Father wouldn't be able to spare the time," said Patty, thinking privately that the expense would also be a consideration, though she did not say that aloud. "He must get home to look after his patients, you know. Mr. Barnes, our new assistant, isn't very clever, and several people are seriously ill, and can't be left long."

Muriel shrugged her shoulders.

"I wouldn't mention they'd brought you, then," she replied. "It's considered the correct thing for one's parents to stay at the Queen's, and the girls will think it so queer if yours haven't. What bedroom are you in?"

"No. 7. I hope it's a nice one?"

"Oh, tolerable! Not so nice as mine. I'm in No. 16, on the other landing, with three of my best friends."

"Do you know who's in my room?"

"Nobody at all particular; only May Firth, Ella Johnson, and Doris Kennedy. Do you see that new girl crossing the quad? I believe she comes from our part of the world. She was starting too when I was setting off; they nearly put her in my carriage, only luckily the guard had locked the door."

"What's her name? I don't remember seeing her at Waverton."

"I daresay not. Her name's Jean Bannerman, and she lives in one of those houses at the end of the park. I met her once at a party, but we don't know them at all."

"Does she seem nice?"

"I'm sure I can't tell. I wasn't much impressed with her. Have you unpacked?"

"No, not yet. My box hasn't been brought upstairs."

"It's there now. I saw John carrying it to your room. I should think you'd better go and take your things out."

"Won't you come with me, Muriel?" asked Patty, rather shyly. "I don't know where I'm expected to put my clothes."

"Haven't time," said Muriel, shaking her head. "I've got all my own to do. It's easy enough; you've only to pop them into your drawers and your wardrobe. Supper's at seven in the refectory. Why, there's Gwendolen Farmer. I simply must go and speak to her. Ta-ta!"

And Muriel ran away to the other side of the quadrangle, leaving Patty standing alone upon the steps.

Thus suddenly deserted, the latter watched for a moment to see if her cousin meant to come back, but Muriel, after greeting the newcomer with much affection, linked her arm in hers, and without even turning her head to look round, walked through a doorway opposite, and was lost to sight. Patty went upstairs to her cubicle with a rather sore feeling in her heart, against which she made a violent effort to struggle. After all, she argued to herself, it was only natural that Muriel, who must have so many friends in the school, should be so anxious to see them all again after the long summer holidays. She would no doubt be waiting in the refectory to show her to her seat, and would then, perhaps, introduce her to a few special companions. She could not mean absolutely to ignore her, and it was absurd to take offence needlessly.

"I'm her own relation, and she surely can't forget that," thought Patty. "She's busy now, but she'll be nicer to me later on."

Each bedroom at The Priory was divided into four cubicles by means of curtains hung on brass rods, and each cubicle contained its own little bed, chest of drawers, washstand, and small wardrobe. Patty was lucky enough to have a window that looked out over the playing fields, otherwise her division was exactly the same as the rest. The three other occupants appeared to have already unpacked: their nightdress cases were laid on their beds, their sponges on their washstands, various photo frames, books, and ornaments adorned their dressing-tables, and their curtains were drawn back, as was the rule when the cubicles were not occupied, to allow a free current of air through the room. Patty unlocked her box, and set to work to arrange her various possessions, placing the photo of the family group, which had been a parting present from home, in a prominent position, and trying to stifle the longing to see all the dear, familiar faces again. The nightdress case, which she had thought so beautiful when she was packing, looked quite plain and ordinary by the side of the three elaborately worked ones on the other beds. She had certainly nothing so dainty as the pale-pink, quilted silk dressing-gown that she could see hanging on a peg behind the door, nor did she possess cut-glass scent bottles, such as stood on the dressing-table in the cubicle opposite; nevertheless Patty put her things away with a certain pride of ownership, and when all was neatly finished, glanced round her new quarters with much satisfaction. It was scarcely six o'clock, and supper was not until seven, so she decided to go downstairs again on the chance of finding Muriel, who by this time must surely have finished her own unpacking. She waited in the hall for a few minutes, not quite knowing what to do, until a mistress, hurrying by, noticed her standing there, and directed her to the recreation room. Here a number of girls appeared to be collected: a pair of bosom friends occupied one window, and five pigtails in close proximity took up another; by the empty fire grate a group of four stood talking photography with a short fat girl in spectacles, seated on the edge of the table; while others were continually passing in and out to announce their own arrival, or to search for absent companions. Several glanced at Patty, but nobody spoke to her, or paid any particular attention, so she walked over to the sofa, and taking a book which she found there, sat idly turning the pages without reading them, and feeling very uncomfortable and extremely homesick. Everybody in the room, she thought, seemed talking, laughing, and joking with everyone else, and she was the only stranger amongst them. No, she was mistaken. There was one girl as solitary as herself, sitting on the music stool, and turning over a pile of old pieces and songs that lay on the top of the piano. She was an interesting-looking girl, with good features, grey eyes with very long dark lashes, a clear pale complexion, as creamy as if it had been bathed in milk, and