l!

After this Mrs. Potten's voice had changed to ice, and she put on a
perfectly beastly tone.

"Gwendolen, you shock me beyond words, and oblige me to take a very
decided step in the matter."

Then she stopped, and Gwendolen could recall that horrible moment of
suspense. Then came words that made Gwendolen shudder to think of.

"I have a very great respect for the position of a Warden--it is a
position of trust; and I have also personally a very great respect for
the Warden of King's. I give you an alternative. Break off your
engagement with him at once, quietly, or I shall make this little affair
of the note known in Oxford, so that the Warden will have to break the
engagement off. Which alternative do you choose?"

The very words repeated themselves over and over in Gwendolen's memory,
and she flung herself on her bed and gave way to a passion of tears. No,
she would never forgive Mrs. Potten.

When the bell sounded for dinner, Gwendolen struggled off the bed and
went to look at herself in the glass. She couldn't possibly go
downstairs looking like that, even if she were dressed. Yet pangs of
hunger seized Gwendolen. She had eaten one wretched little slice of
bread and butter at Potten End, moistening it with her tears, and now
she wanted food. Several minutes passed.

"They won't care even if I'm dead," moaned Gwendolen, and she listened.

A knock came at her door, and Louise entered.

"If mademoiselle has a headache would she like to have some dinner
brought up to her?"

"Yes, thanks," said Gwendolen, and she kept her face away from the
direction of the door so that Louise could not see it.

"What would mademoiselle like? Some soup?"

Oh, how wretched it all was! And when all might have been so different!
And soup--only soup!

"I don't care," said Gwendolen, "some sort of dinner--any dinner."

"Ah, dinner!" said Louise.

When she had gone, Gwendolen tied two handkerchiefs together and
fastened them round her forehead to look as if she had a
headache--indeed, she had a headache--and a heartache too!

Presently dinner was brought up, and Gwendolen ate it in loneliness and
sadness. She did not leave anything. She had thought of leaving some of
the meat, but decided against it. After she had finished, and it had
been cleared away, she had sat looking at the fire for a few minutes
with eyes that were sore from weeping. Then she got up and began to
undress. Life was a miserable thing! She got into be