nlike her," commented Ruth. "She generally goes to bed with
so many jokes and parting shots."

To-night Honor walked upstairs with unwonted staidness and gravity. She
went quietly into her cubicle and drew the curtain, and answered so
briefly when her room-mate spoke to her that the latter was almost
offended.

"Perhaps she's only tired though," thought Janie charitably. "This hot
weather is enough to wear anybody out. I don't always care to talk
myself."

Janie was certainly not a girl to push conversation where it was
evidently not wanted, so the pair undressed in absolute silence. From
Honor's cubicle came sounds that suggested that its occupant was
fumbling with a key and unlocking a box, but as she did not volunteer
any explanation, her room-mate made no comments. When Vivian arrived at
half-past nine to switch out the light, both girls were in bed.

Next morning Janie woke suddenly just as the grey dawn was growing
strong enough to show faintly the various objects that were in the
room. Some unusual noise had disturbed her, and she lay listening
intently. She could hear stealthy movements in the next cubicle, and
wondering what her friend was doing, she popped out of bed and peeped
round the curtain. There was Honor, fully dressed, and in the act of
putting on her hat.

"What's the matter?" asked Janie anxiously. "Honor! where are you
going?"

"I hoped I shouldn't waken you," replied Honor in a whisper. "Hush!
Don't talk loud, because with all the windows so wide open the girls in
No. 6 can hear quite plainly when we speak in this room."

"All right. But do tell me why you're getting up at this extraordinary
hour?" said Janie, in a subdued tone.

"I'm in a dreadful fix! I must meet Dermot down on the beach soon after
five o'clock."

"Meet Dermot! Your brother? But why?"

"He's in such a scrape, and I have to get him out of it."

"How do you know?"

"One of the servants slipped this note into my hand last night, as we
came in from the garden. You can read it if you like."

Janie took the letter, which was written in a scrawling, boyish hand on
a piece of paper apparently torn out of an exercise-book. It ran thus:--

"ORLEY GRANGE,
"_Tuesday_.

"DEAR HONOR,

"I am in the most awful row, and if I can't get a sovereign by
to-morrow morning I shall be done for. I owe it to Blake. I haven't
time to tell you the whole affair, but I have been an absolute
idiot. Blake want