way of blame.
It was whispered in the school that several enterprising spirits had
managed to shift on to Raymonde's shoulders the consequences of their
own crimes, with results more satisfactory to themselves than to their
lively classmate. In spite of the fact that she had passed her
fifteenth birthday, Raymonde was the most irresponsible creature in
the world. She looked it. Her face was as round and smooth as an
infant's, with an absurd little dab of a nose, a mouth with baby
dimples at the corners, and small white teeth that seemed more like
first than second ones, and dark eyes which, when they did not happen
to be twinkling, were capable of putting on a bewitching innocence of
expression calculated to deceive almost any teacher, however
experienced, save the case-hardened Miss Gibbs.

At the beginning of this term there were twenty-six girls in the
little community assembled at Marlowe Grange. The old house provided
ample accommodation, and had been easily adapted to meet the wants of
a school. Built originally in Elizabethan days, it had been added to
at various times, and its medley of architecture, while hopelessly
confusing styles, had resulted in a very picturesque and charming
whole. Perhaps the most ancient part was the fortified gateway,
ruinous and covered with ivy, but still preserving its winding stair
leading to an upper story that spanned the entrance. With its tiny
loophole windows and its great solid oak gate with the little door cut
through, it had the aspect of a mediaeval fortress, and was a fitting
introduction to what was to follow. High walls on both sides enclosed
the courtyard, and farther on, to the right of the house, was another
quaint garden, where shaved yew trees and clipped hollies presented
distorted imitations of peacocks, umbrellas, pagodas, or other
ambitious examples of topiary art. Here, in the late April weather,
spring bulbs were blooming, wallflowers made a sheet of gold, and the
pear trees were opening pure white blossoms. Little clumps of pansies,
pink daisies, and forget-me-nots were struggling up, rather mixed
amongst the box edging, and a bank of white alyssum on the rockery
near the hives provided a feast of nectar for the bees, whose drowsy
hum seemed to hold all the promise of the coming summer.

Behind this garden, and sheltered by the outbuildings from the north
and east winds, lay the orchard, neglected and unpruned, but very
beautiful with its moss-grown apple