her again until
she stopped being such a goose."

"But the letter?" said Judith.

"I'm coming to that. It was printed and I can't remember it exactly, but
it was something like this:

Don't hang around Catherine Ellison any more,
Genevieve Singleton, she can't bear the sight
of you. A word to the wise is sufficient.

She is crying like anything and Peggy Forrest says it is a perfect
shame."

"What's a perfect shame?" asked Josephine pointedly.

"Why, the meanness of the person who sent that letter," said Nancy;
"whoever did it, is a mean horrid thing, every one says so."

Every one was having one opinion or another, for the news spread like
wildfire throughout the house, and at tea-time poor Catherine knew that
this choice piece of gossip was being discussed at every table. She was
not long left in ignorance as to the fact that some of the girls thought
that she herself had written the note in order to get rid of an
unwelcome visitor, who was very difficult to snub. Other girls, who had
resented the prefect's attitude towards crushes, expressed great
sympathy for Genevieve, and there was much speculation as to the
probable author of the letter.

Catherine took counsel with Eleanor and they decided that it was a
tempest in a teapot and that Genevieve would be quite all right by
to-morrow. However, next day Genevieve's eyes were still red and she
began to assume the attitude of an early Christian martyr.

Catherine, who had been very much vexed by the whole affair, felt
remorseful. "Poor Genevieve," she thought, "she's feeling very badly. I
can't help wondering why she let the others see the note; but there is
no use judging; I'd better go and say good-night to her." This last was
looked upon as an act of special favour and condescension on the part of
a prefect, and Catherine felt that she was being very magnanimous.

In the visiting time before "lights out" bell, she tapped at Genevieve's
door and to her dismay Genevieve flung her arms round her neck.

"Oh, Catherine, say you didn't mean it."

"Mean what, you silly?" replied Catherine, crossly realizing that every
girl within hearing distance was pricking up her ears. "Surely you don't
imagine that I would stoop to write an anonymous letter."

"No-o," stammered Genevieve, "but I am sure you don't like me"--and she
began to sob afresh. "I can't bear you to dislike me. Do say that I may
still come to your room sometimes."

Cather