ant you to say--Daisy Bell, I
love you the best of anybody I know."

"I can say that easily, but I don't know a great many people," Helen
returned gravely.

"And that I shall always love you the best of anybody."

"Oh, Daisy, that is a sort of sacred thing to say. How can anyone
tell----"

"I don't mean lovers or husbands, and you haven't any parents or
sisters. Just here in the school--you will love me the best because I
love you so. That is the highest claim."

"I will love you the best," Helen said almost solemnly.

Then a strange awesome feeling thrilled through Helen, and she wondered
if it was right to promise away one's freedom, even in so simple a
matter as loving a schoolmate.

"Oh, you dear, dear girl! Go to sleep and dream of me."

CHAPTER XIV

AND THORNS SPRANG UP

School work began in great earnest. There was no loitering now. The
girls who went in the A grade would be seniors next year, and the A
grade of seniors would graduate. Helen took up French with a vim. Mrs.
Van Dorn spoke of it particularly in her letter, and she had the right
to order what Helen should do. The girl never thought of any mental
protest.

Then there were all the other classes. A conscientious girl was kept
pretty busy. Helen was in the sketching class, Daisy was painting and
did it well. Miss Craven began also, and evinced a decided genius for
it. She was still quiet and reserved. She made no especial demands upon
Helen, but the younger girl found many little ways to assure her of an
interest. Just a clasp of the hand, a glance of the eye, a smile, and
Miss Craven was comforted for hours.

She tried to draw her into general conversation at the table, she said
nice things to other girls about her and endeavored to interest them.
Oh, if Miss Craven only would come out of her shell and say some of the
really bright things she did when they were alone! It was hard work
Helen found; a sort of weight at times affected her own spontaneity.

With all the study there was a good deal of fun, sometimes almost
fighting when arguments ran high, or when one's favorite writer or poem
or story was assailed. Some of the girls insisted that Miss Reid had the
most genius for painting, and others were on Miss Bigelow's side. Miss
Gertrude Aldred would not be trapped into a decision, though many a plot
was laid for her.

Helen thought now and then of Mr. Warfield. She did so want to write to
him. She could not, at least she di