further
questioning.

Dorothy took up her pile of home-lesson books and followed them; but
they must have raced down the passage, for when she reached the door
they were already disappearing round the corner of the playground. It
was useless to think of pursuing them; she had barely time, as it was,
to catch her train, and she must walk fast if she meant to be at the
station by half-past four. She scurried along High Street, keeping a
watchful eye on the town hall clock in the intervals of dodging
passengers on the pavements and dashing recklessly over crossings. At
Station Road she quickened her footsteps to a run, and tore up the
flight of stairs that was the shortest cut to the ticket office.
Fortunately she possessed a contract, so she had no further delay, and
was able to scuttle across the platform into the Hurford train. The
guard, who knew her well by sight, smiled as he slammed the door of her
compartment.

"A near shave to-day, missy! I see you're back at school," he remarked,
then waved his green flag.

Dorothy sank down breathlessly. To miss the 4.30 would have meant
waiting three-quarters of an hour--a tiresome experience which she had
gone through before, and had no desire to repeat. She was lucky,
certainly; but now that the anxiety of catching the train was over, the
reaction came, and she felt both tired and cross. What an enormously
long time it seemed since she had started that morning, and what a
horrid day it had been! She leaned back in a corner of the compartment
and took a mental review of everything that had happened at school: her
expectation of winning the election, her canvassing among the girls,
their many ill-natured remarks, Val's method of bribery, and Hope's
unfair advantage. She was bitterly chagrined at missing the wardenship,
and the thought that she might have had a chance of success if she had
known of the voting powers of the First and Second Forms only added to
her disappointment. She was indignant and out of temper with Mavie, with
Hope, with the whole of her little world; everything had seemed to go
wrong, and, to crown all, Agnes Lowe had dared to call her a nobody and
a charity child! What could Agnes mean? It was surely a ridiculously
false accusation, made from spite or sheer love of teasing. She, Dorothy
Greenfield, a waif! The idea was impossible. Why, she had always prided
herself upon her good birth! The Sherbournes were of knightly race, and
their doings were menti