would often retire to this sanctum to read or do preparation
before afternoon classes. At that hour she generally had it alone, and
it seemed almost as good as a private study. One day, late in March, she
walked briskly upstairs with her water-colour box. She wanted to
illuminate a book back for Ermie's birthday, she could not venture to
paint it in the studio, because her chum might come in and see it, and
there was practically no time available after she went home in the
afternoons. The gate room, though rather dark, would be absolutely
secluded, with no fear of Ermie suddenly peeping over her shoulder and
asking: "What are you doing, old sport?"

Lesbia hurried along the upper corridor, her mind full of the design
which she meant to paint, so preoccupied, indeed, that she never saw a
suspicious movement of the book-cupboard door as she passed, or heard
suppressed giggles inside. She just walked on, utterly oblivious, went
into the gate room, and, for better security, bolted herself in. The
latticed window overlooking the street was open, and she noticed vaguely
that the floor underneath it was wet, as though with rain.

"Funny, when it's been fine for three days," she commented; but it was
an unimportant trifle, so she placed the table over the damp patch,
settled herself in the best light, and began her painting. She spent a
happy and profitable half-hour copying a delightful bit of "Fra
Angelico" illumination from a Florentine post card, and would have gone
on longer only her watch, propped up as monitor, reminded her that time
was on the wing. She stood up, took her painting mug, and abstractedly
turned to the window with the idea of flinging the water away. She was
leaning out, mug in hand, when she suddenly realized that she was over a
public roadway, and that not only were people walking underneath, but
that Miss Ormerod herself was returning to the side door, and was gazing
upwards at her anticipated act with horror writ large on every feature.
Lesbia stopped just in time, aghast at her own folly.

"Well! I _am_ a stupid idiot," she soliloquized. "I was actually going
to give passers-by a shower-bath. Nice thing for a prefect to do. It's
just like me. I had a notion I was throwing it into the garden, like I
do from the studio window. Suppose I had soused Miss Ormerod? It would
have been the end of all things. There goes the bell. Oh goody! I must
hurry or I shall be late for gym."

All afternoon Lesbia felt