at the far end of the dormitory--a bigger and
somewhat more elaborately furnished affair than any of the other
cubicles. As she passed by Number Thirteen, the curtains of which were
still thrown back, the sight of the new girl and her rather frightened
attitude caught Muriel's eye, and she stopped good-naturedly to speak
to her.

"Hullo! Somebody new in here? What's your name, kiddie?" she asked,
ignoring the fact that she was only a couple of years or so older than
the individual she was addressing.

"Geraldine Wilmott," replied the new girl shyly. Phyllis's unprovoked
attack had unnerved her considerably, and she shrank away from the head
girl's well-meant advances.

"She's got Dorothy Pemberton's cubicle--isn't it a shame?" said
Phyllis, scowling darkly at Geraldine. "Dorothy's had that cubicle
next to mine for years and years. It's too bad that we should be
separated now, all because of a new kid."

"Jolly good thing you are to be separated, I think, if I'm to be your
dormitory monitress," replied the head girl, with a smile that took the
sting out of her words. "One of you alone is bad enough--but you two
together are the limit! If Sister has really put you into different
dormitories at last, she has my heartfelt gratitude!"

"They're not so far removed after all, worse luck," remarked the
occupant of Number Fourteen, who was just finishing putting away her
belongings in a neatly arranged drawer. "Dorothy's got Number
Twenty-Nine, the next cubicle to yours, Muriel. She's in the same
dormitory still."

"Why, Monica, old thing--how are you? I never saw you hidden away in
there. Finished your unpacking? Then come along and talk to me while
I do mine." And the head girl slipped her arm round Monica Deane and
led her away. These two were great friends, out-of-school companions
as well as form-mates, although pretty, vivacious Muriel Paget,
brilliant at games and gymnastics as well as at lessons, was a great
contrast to Monica, who, although studious enough, was painstaking and
plodding rather than brilliant; and although keen and reliable at all
sorts of games, would never make much of a mark at them.

Phyllis Tressider remained staring rather sulkily at the new owner of
Number Thirteen, who, deprived of the comforting protection of the head
girl, was growing momentarily more and more nervous under the hostile
scrutiny. However, there came another interruption almost immediately,
this time in th