never liked anybody to "go one better" than herself, was particularly aggravated by a fair-haired girl who sat near her, and who, as she conversed with the teacher, kept the corner of her eye on the new-comers as if judging the impression she was making on them.

"I don't like her! I shan't ever like her!" thought Merle irately. "She's conceited, and those eyes are sneaky. It's nothing so much to talk French. I suppose they're used to it. She needn't think I'm admiring her cleverness, for I'm not. I'll pluck up courage myself to say something next time Mademoiselle looks at me."

But Merle's powers were not equal to her courage, and when Mademoiselle gave her another chance she turned scarlet and stuttered, and generally made rather a goose of herself, to her own infinite indignation and evidently to the amusement of the rest of the class, especially of the fair-haired girl, who tittered openly till she met the teacher's outraged gaze, when she suddenly straightened her face and tried to appear quite unconscious. Mavis, profiting by her sister's example, did not commit herself to speech. Mademoiselle Chavasse's accent was unfamiliar and difficult to understand, and most of her remarks might as easily have been in Greek as French, to judge by the standards of Whinburn High School. Both the Ramsays were particularly relieved when the lesson came to an end.

At 12.30 Mavis, who had been sent to the school with a special recommendation that her health should be looked after, was carried off by Miss Pollard to be weighed and measured and otherwise inspected, while Merle, with boots and hat and coat on, and all impatience to be off, waited for her in the cloak-room. The other day-girls had scurried away with hardly more than a glance in her direction, and she sat alone, kicking her heels and not in the sweetest of tempers, till one of the boarders, passing the door, peeped in, saw her, and entered. The new-comer was a nice-looking girl, with grey eyes and a plait of very dark hair. She smiled in quite friendly fashion.

"Hello!" she began. "Sitting here all by your lonesome? Why don't you go home?"

"Can't. I'm waiting for Mavis."

"Is Mavis the other? She's rather sweet! I like her fluffy hair and that blue velvet band. Somebody said she was older than you, but she doesn't look it."

"People often take us for twins," conceded Merle.

Iva Westwood shook her head.

"No one with eyes, surely! You're alike in a way, but not very. Opal Earnshaw was fearfully angry that you beat her in maths. She's been cock of the walk till now."

"Which is Opal Earnshaw?"

"That fair girl who sat near you."

Merle's face darkened.

"That was why she tried to take it out of me in the French class, then?"

"Oh, Opal tries to take it out of everybody. She won't be very pleased you two have come, I expect. You're too old to stand her bossing."

"Why do other people stand it?"

"Well, you see, she's head of the school, and Miss Pollard and Miss Fanny are her godmothers."

"What difference does that make?"

"A great deal of difference, as you'll soon find out. Everything their darling god-child does must be right, that's the long and short of it. They favour her fearfully."

"What a blazing shame."

"Yes, some of us get rather fed up I can tell you. We mutiny every now and then."

"Count on me, then, next time you have squalls."

"Thanks!"

"Tell me about some of the other girls. Who's that one in the green jersey who sat by the window and dropped her pencil-box? Is she nice?"

"Edith Carey! Ye-e-s, she's nice enough in a way." (Iva's tone was unconvincing). "She's the kind of girl who drags on your arm when she's tired, and insists on kissing you when she's got a bad cold."

"I understand—exactly. I suppose the other green jersey is her sister?"

"Maude? Oh, she's not a bad sort either. Rather a slacker though, always late for everything. We say she'd be late for her own funeral. She made us miss the train once when we were going an excursion. What are the others like? Well, we call Aubrey Simpson the jackdaw, because she's always talking. Muriel Burnitt makes fun of everybody. You should hear her take off Mademoiselle! Nesta Pitman may be a little nasty to you at first, but don't mind her, because it's only her way with new people. She'll soon come round. She's rather off-hand, but a real sport!"

"So are you, I should guess!"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm Cornish, and Cornish people are supposed to be queer. At least Devon people say they are."

"Mother is Devon."

"Then I expect you'll think me queer. Are you living with your uncle, Dr. Tremayne? He's a sport if you like! He used to come and see me when I had scarlet fever, and he brought me strawberries long before our own were ripe. I wish I weren't a boarder. We live fifteen miles away, at Langoran Rectory. It's too far to come every day, or I'd bike, like Christabel Oakley. We used to have a governess at home until my brother went to school and——"

But Iva's reminiscences were broken by the appearance of Mavis, rather hot and injured after her health examination, and very anxious that they should not be late for one o'clock lunch. Iva, hearing a bell, disappeared without further remark, and the Ramsays hurried back through the town to Bridge House, where Aunt Nellie, who admired punctuality as a cardinal virtue, was looking out of the window for them. They compared notes while they washed their hands.

"Are you going to like it?" asked Mavis eagerly.

"Um—I don't know! I certainly shan't like Opal Earnshaw, and she needn't think because she's head girl and all the rest of it that I'm going to truckle to her. They must be a poor-spirited set to let her lord it over everybody. Who said she did? Why, Iva Westwood. She was talking to me in the cloakroom. I could be chums with that girl! There's something about her I rather take to. She's Cornish, and they say Devon and Cornish people never can agree, but perhaps we'll hit it in spite of that. She said you were rather sweet! Don't screw up your mouth! She meant it as a compliment really. Do you think teachers ought to have their own godchildren for pupils? No, I've not suddenly gone mad, but Iva told me Miss Pollard and Miss Fanny are Opal's godmothers, and think everything she does is absolutely perfect. 'The Queen can do no wrong' sort of idea! I think it's horrid to have favourites. There goes the gong. Help! Give me the towel, quick! We mustn't be late for lunch on our first day without Mother, or Aunt Nellie'll think us horrible slackers."

CHAPTER III
The School Favourite

Mavis and Merle walked into the dining-room just in the nick of time to satisfy Mrs. Tremayne's sense of propriety. She was a dear, nervous, old lady, who had never had any daughters of her own, and had rather a hazy notion of girls in general, and was indeed a little frightened of schoolgirls; but she tried to be very kind to her great-nieces, and had told Jessop to be sure and look after them. Jessop did not need any telling. It was she who had arranged their bedroom, and had put the little table in the window, and the two basket-chairs, and the bookcase full of tales of adventure and bound volumes of The Boys' Own Paper. The iced soda-cake was of her making, and so was the plateful of delicious treacle toffee.

"It's twenty years since the boys used to come home from boarding-school for their holidays, but I haven't forgotten what young folks like," she explained to Mavis and Merle, as she helped them to unpack. "It's more like a boys' bedroom than a girls' perhaps, but I