tersons, realized what a "_faux pas_" she had
committed, and burned with shame to have thus trespassed upon her
hospitality.

By an unspoken but mutual understanding the two girls simply buried the
past and did not refer either to Lesbia's late experiences or to her
future prospects. They confined their conversation strictly to school
matters.

There was plenty to be said, for it was the most exciting part of the
term. The girls were getting ready for their great Christmas
entertainment, to which parents and friends would be invited. Every day
some of them stayed after school to rehearse. The orchestra, which had
advanced from scraping to quite tuneful melody, played in the gymnasium
each morning from 8.25 to 8.55, a very creditable record, considering it
was voluntary work, and necessitated a start from home at an early hour.

"I have to walk, because there isn't a tram from Felsham between the
workmen's cars at six, and the half-past eight car," proclaimed Aldora
Dodson, rubbing her blue fingers to restore the circulation. "I call it
pretty stiff to tramp two miles to a rehearsal!"

"Poor old sport," sympathized Kathleen. "Why don't you bike it?"

"My bike's smashed. I lent it to my wretched small brother, and he ran
into a hand-cart. That's what children do if you're silly enough to lend
them things. It's carrying the violin to school that makes my arm ache."

"Why don't you leave it here?"

"Because I want to practise in the evenings, of course."

"Then I can't help you, my child. You'll have to be content with the
honour and glory of playing in the school orchestra, and put up with the
inconveniences. You can't eat your cake and have it."

"Oh, don't preach. _You'd_ growl yourself if you had such a tramp."

"I daresay I should."

Those girls who were taking part in the song-drama were naturally much
concerned about costumes. They spoke of nothing else, in season or out
of season. Miss Lightwood, the stage manageress, was determined to have
everything strictly in keeping and to prevent any anachronisms. It was a
difficult matter however to decide exactly what articles were or were
not worn in the Celtic Ireland of about 200 B.C., and there were many
discussions on debatable points.

"The one thing we're perfectly certain about," said Marjorie Johns, "is
that they wore heaps of jewellery. Everybody who was anybody at all
seemed to have a necklet and a coronet and an immense brooch made of
gold. How are