night after night the dining-
table of the little parlour was littered with the sheets of foolscap
which were to test the progress of the pupils throughout the term.
Cecil's older forms had been studying _The Merchant of Venice, Richard
the Second_, and the _Essays of Elia_; the younger forms, _Tanglewood
Tales_ and Kingsley's _Heroes_. She had set the questions not only as a
test of memory, but with a view of drawing out original thought. But,
to judge from her groans and lamentations, the result was poor.

"Of all the dull, stupid, unimaginative--_sheep_! Not an original idea
between them. Every answer exactly like the last--a hash-up of my own
remarks in class. If there's a creature on earth I despise more than
another, it's an English flapper. Silly, vain, egotistical--"

Then the French mistress would scowl across the table, and say, "Now
you've put me out! I was just counting up my marks. Oh, do be quiet!"

"Sorry!" Cecil would say shortly, and taking up her pencil slash
scathing comments at the side of the foolscap sheets. Anon she would
smile, and smile again, and forgetting Claire's request, would interrupt
once more.

"Can you remember the name of Florence Mason?"

"If I strain my intellect to its utmost, I believe I can."

"Well, remember, then! It will be worth while. She'll do something--
that girl. When you are an insignificant old woman, you may be proud to
boast that you used to sit at the very table on which her first English
essays were corrected."

"So they are not all dull, stupid, unimaginative?"

"The exception proves the rule!" cried Cecil, and swept the papers
together with a sigh of relief. "Done at last. Now for my blouse."

Claire cast a glance at the clock.

"Half-past ten. And you are so tired. Surely you won't begin to sew at
this hour?"

"I must. I want it for Saturday. I tried it on last night, and it
wasn't a bit nice at the neck. I've got to alter it somehow."

"I have some trimming upstairs. Just be quiet for five minutes, while I
finish my list, and then I'll bring down my scrap-box, and we'll see
what we can find."

That scrap-box was in constant request during the next weeks. It was
filled with the dainty oddments which a woman of means and taste
collects in the course of years; trimmings and laces, and scraps of fine
brocades; belts and buckles, and buttons of silver and paste; glittering
ends of tinsel, ends of silk and ribbons that were really