ion who'd asked me to tea on Saturday!"

"Oh, was it? You never told me that. How was I to know?"

Lesbia sat down on her boot-locker and relieved her feelings by giving a
very plain and unflattering opinion of her chum's conduct.

"I stuck to _my_ part of the bargain," she wound up wrathfully.

"But you didn't. You told her another week would do quite as well."

"Because I thought I was going to the theatre. You'd asked me."

"Well, Marion didn't know that. It's all a mix up. What am I to do? Tell
her about it?"

"No, if she's accepted she'd better go."

"I'm most dreadfully sorry, Lesbia! I wish we'd another ticket."

"Oh, it can't be helped now!" and Lesbia rather ungraciously wrenched
her arm from Calla's apologetic grasp, banged on her hat anyhow, and
fled from the cloakroom, feeling about the crossest girl in Kingfield.

"It's like my luck," she said to herself bitterly.

To try and take some of the sting out of her disappointment she asked
leave to go after school to Pilgrims' Inn Chambers, to return a book
which Miss Joyce had lent her. She found her friend looking quite _en
fete_, in a most artistic dress, with fresh flowers in the studio, and
elaborate cakes set forth on the tea table.

"I won't come in," said Lesbia, catching a vision of these splendours
through the open door, and concluding visitors were expected. "I've only
brought back your book, that's all."

"But you are coming in," insisted Miss Joyce. "Don't be silly! Who do
you think is coming to tea to-day? I'd give you a hundred guesses! Miss
Vivian L'Estrange, who plays a principal part in the Franklin Company.
She's old Mr. Broughten's niece, and she's staying with him while she's
in Kingfield. I promised I wouldn't ask a crowd to meet her, because
she's tired and wants to be quiet in the afternoons, but I'm sure she
won't mind a schoolgirl like you. Here they are!"

What followed was like a dream to Lesbia. Mr. Broughten remembered her,
asked about the antiquarian scrap-book, and introduced her to his niece,
a charming lady who seemed a mixture of Portia and Rosalind and Miranda
all rolled into one in private life. It was a friendly little
tea-gathering, and the end of it all was that Miss Vivian L'Estrange
offered the whole party seats in the stage box for Friday evening.

"Uncle Will wants to see me in _The Tempest_, and he hates to sit alone,
don't you, Uncle?" she said laughingly.

"Ask your aunt to let you go, dear, and I'll