gure. Sir Lucius and Lord
Torrington crossed the lawn again. Half-way across they were exactly
opposite the dining-room window, A few steps further on and the direct
line between the window and a corner of the shrubbery lay behind them.
Priscilla seized the most favourable moment for her passage. Just as the
two men reached the point at which their backs were turned to the line
of her crossing she darted forward. Half-way across she seemed to trip,
hesitated for a moment and then ran on. Before the walkers reached their
place of turning she was safe in a laurel bush beside Frank's chair.

"My shoe," she whispered. "It came off slap in the middle of the lawn.
I always knew those were perfectly beastly shoes. It was Sylvia Courtney
made me buy them, though I told her at the time they'd never stick
on, and what good are shoes if they don't Now they are sure to see it;
though perhaps they won't If they don't I can make another dart and get
it."

To avoid all risk of the loss of the second shoe Priscilla took it off
before she started. Lord Torrington and Sir Lucius crossed the lawn
again. It seemed as if one or other of them must tread on the shoe which
lay on their path; but they passed it by. Priscilla seized her chance,
rushed to the middle of the lawn and returned again successfully. Then
she and Frank retreated, for the sake of greater security, into the
middle of the shrubbery.

"Everything's all right," said Priscilla. "I've got lots and lots of
food stored away. I simply looted the dishes as they were brought out of
the dining-room. Fried fish, a whole roast duck, three herrings' roes
on toast, half a caramel pudding--I squeezed it into an old jam pot--and
several other things. We can start at any hour we like tomorrow and it
won't in the least matter whether Brannigan's is open or not. What do
you say to 6 a.m.?"

"I'm not going on the bay tomorrow."

"You must. Why not?"

"Because I want to score off that old beast who sprained my ankle."

The prefect in Frank had entirely disappeared. Two days of close
companionship with Priscilla erased the marks made on his character by
four long years of training at Haileybury. His respect for constituted
authorities had vanished. The fact that Lord Torrington was Secretary
of State for War did not weigh on him for an instant. He was, as indeed
boys ought to be at seventeen years of age, a primitive barbarian. He
was filled with a desire for revenge on the man who had