twelve miles from the great manufacturing city of
Coleminster. Dorothy's destination was a little, quaint, old-fashioned
stone house that stood close by the roadside at the beginning of the
village street. A thick, well-clipped holly hedge protected from prying
eyes a garden where summer flowers were still blooming profusely, a
strip of lawn was laid out for croquet, and a small orchard, at the
back, held a moderate crop of pears and apples. Dorothy ran in through
the creeper-covered porch, slammed her books on the hall table, then,
descending two steps, entered the low-ceiled, oak-panelled dining-room,
and rushed to fling her arms round a lady who was sitting doing fancy
work near the open window.

"Here I am at last, Auntie! Oh, I feel as if I hadn't seen you for a
hundred years! I'm in the Upper Fourth, but it's been a hateful day. I
never thought school was so horrid before. I'm very disappointed and
disgusted and abominably cross."

"Poor little woman! What's the matter?" said Aunt Barbara, taking
Dorothy's face in her hands, as the girl knelt by her side, and trying
to kiss away the frown that rested there. "You certainly don't look as
if you had been enjoying yourself."

"Enjoying myself? I should think not! We had an election for the
wardenship, and my name was on the list, and I might perhaps have won if
the others hadn't been so mean; but I didn't, and Hope Lawson has got
it!"

"We can't always win, can we? Never mind! It's something that your name
was on the list of candidates. All the girls who lost will be feeling
equally disappointed. Suppose you just forget about it, go and take off
your things, and tell Martha to make some buttered toast."

Dorothy laughed. Already her face had lost its injured and woeful
expression.

"That's as good as saying: 'Don't make a fuss about nothing'. All right,
Auntie, I'm going. But I warn you that this is only a respite, and I
mean to give you a full and detailed list of all my particular
grievances after tea. So make up your mind to it, and brace your dear
nerves!"

Miss Barbara Sherbourne was a most charming personality. She was young
enough to be still very pretty and attractive, but old enough to take
broad views of life, and to have attained that independence of action
which is the prerogative of middle age. She was a clever and essentially
a cultured woman; she had lived abroad in her youth, and the glamour of
old Italian cities and soft, southern skies still