, and that the ruins
were the most picturesque in the neighbourhood, far exceeding Weyland
Castle, favoured by the Hilaryites; and Clayton House, the destination
of St. Bride's. The memory of their delightful day was sufficient to
carry them through the ordeal of recapitulation that always preceded
the examinations, necessitating an extra half-hour of preparation in
the evenings, and, as Lettice described it, "concentrating one's
unfortunate brains to absolute splitting point".

Whether Lettice's mental exertions were sufficient to bring her to such
an unhappy crisis was a question on which her class mistress might have
expressed some doubt, though she herself thought she had proof
conclusive one afternoon during the week following the picnic. She ran
in from the grounds in quite a state of excitement, and hailed a group
of friends assembled in the recreation room.

"Girls!" she exclaimed, "I've seen a vision, a most extraordinary and
peculiar sight! You wouldn't believe what it was! I happened to be at
the bottom of the garden, and in that quiet path behind the laundry I
actually saw Janie Henderson tearing up and down, as if she were doing
the last spurt of a Marathon."

"Janie Henderson! Impossible!" cried everybody.

"Just what I said. I rubbed my eyes, and came to the conclusion that
I'd been overstudying, and must be suffering from a delusion. Do I look
queer?"

"Not in the least; your cheeks are as red as peonies."

"Well, my eyesight must be defective, then, for I certainly thought I
saw her."

"You've been dreaming!"

"It's about as likely as seeing Miss Cavendish performing with a
skipping rope."

"Yes, it's absurd on the face of it. It must have been somebody else."

"A case of mistaken identity."

"There are heaps of girls the same height, and with long, light hair."

"No doubt. I was a fairly good distance off too. And yet," added
Lettice to herself, as she went to change her cricket shoes, "I verily
believe it was Janie Henderson, after all!"

CHAPTER XIII

Miss Maitland's Window

While the weather continued to be so hot and close, Miss Maitland
allowed the girls to spend their evening recreation in the garden, so
that they might have a blow of fresh, cool air before they went to bed.
They enjoyed sitting under the trees with books or fancy work, though
as a rule their tongues wagged so fast that there was little display of
industry with their needles.

"I hate sewing," confes