r somebody to find out, and just go back to
the rink and say nothing."

She had not counted, however, on Mabel, who, missing her friend for an
unusual length of time, took off her skates and went to hunt for her,
tracking her in the end by her footsteps in the snow. Mabel's amazement
when she reached the lawn was only equalled by her admiration. She
rushed off instantly to fetch all the girls to look, even venturing to
knock at the study door and report her news at head-quarters.

Aldred's snow statue made quite a sensation at the Grange. Miss Drummond
thought so highly of it that she had it photographed, and invited many
of her friends from Chetbourne to come and see it. It was such a daring
and original project for a girl of only fifteen to have carried out
entirely alone that she felt it reflected credit on the school to
possess so clever a pupil. Aldred was praised to her heart's content,
and received so much attention from teachers and visitors that she could
certainly consider herself, for the time being, the most important
person at Birkwood. She was petted by the prefects, invited to skate by
members of the Sixth Form who had ignored her existence before, and
asked so often for her autograph that she grew almost tired of signing
her name.

"There's to be a picture of your statue in the School Magazine," said
Mabel rapturously. "That's a tremendous compliment, because Miss
Drummond generally says it's too expensive to have illustrations. I'm
going to ask her to have your photograph put in as well--just a tiny
head, from that splendid snapshot which Dora took when you came last
September. It would fit into a corner of the same page, and show the
'portrait of the artist'. I'll make up the extra money myself, if it
will cost more to print. I shall bespeak six copies: I want to send one
to Cousin Marion--she's gone to live in Germany for a year; she'll be so
interested, because, you know, it was she who was staying at Seaforth
last year, and who first told me anything about you."

Aldred's face fell. In a moment all the zest seemed to have faded out of
her pleasure. This was indeed a grave danger. "Cousin Marion" had seen
her namesake at Seaforth, and would probably recognize that the two
faces were not the same; even a badly printed portrait might not conceal
the lack of likeness. Would Mabel ever forget that wretched episode? Why
must it always be raked up in this tiresome way? Whenever she thought it
was safel