ead of
loosening her hold on her friend, she pulled her down on to the
hearth-rug, before the fire.

"I understand!" she said. "Oh, Aldred, dear, I know all about that, you
know!"

Aldred's face was a study.

"Yes, Agnes Maxwell told me before tea."

"What has Agnes to do with it?"

"Why, she heard you! She said all the others who had spoken English had
reported themselves to Miss Bardsley, but she was sure you hadn't."

Aldred drew a long breath. It was quite a different crime that Mabel
imagined she was confessing, a little slip that she scarcely
recollected, and certainly had not intended to rake up. She had been
guilty of expressing herself in her own language during the time set
apart for French conversation that morning, but, having no desire to
lose a mark, she had discreetly allowed her memory to fail her when the
mistress asked if any girl had "communicated in English".

"I must say I was very astonished," continued Mabel, "and very
disappointed that you, of all people, should not have told; it seemed so
entirely different from what you are. I couldn't believe that you would
go a whole afternoon letting 'perfect' be down in the register, when you
ought to have had a bad mark. Of course, I knew you would tell before
Monday--luckily, Saturday's marks count for next week."

Aldred said nothing. She sat on the fender, poking the little, soft
volcanoes that oozed out of the coal, squeezing them down, and watching
the jets of gas that followed.

"It was a funny idea to write it in a letter!" said Mabel. "You always
do quaint things; I suppose it's because you're such an original girl."

"Aren't you going to read it?" asked Aldred, in a strained voice.

"Why should I? I know what's in it. No, it shall go down into that
hollow in the fire. Give me the poker. There! What a blaze it makes!"

Aldred watched her confession flare up and sink into ashes in the heart
of the hot coals; there was a strange look on her face, a look that her
friend could not fathom.

"Suppose I had said nothing at all about it next week, and had kept the
'perfect', would you still have cared for me?"

"Oh, but you couldn't!" cried Mabel. "It's impossible! Why, it wouldn't
be you to do such a thing!"

"But if----"

"There are no 'ifs'. I could never believe any wrong of you, darling;
and yet----"

"What are you two crouching over the fire in the dark for?" exclaimed
Dora Maxwell, bursting suddenly into the room. "We are going