emptorily. 'Don't, Ruth!' she said.
'It's only a babe, after all. You others had better go downstairs;
the supper-bell will ring directly.'

The gallery slowly emptied itself, except for the little group of three
that still stood outside the head girl's door. The offending Ruth turned
to Barbara; she had a good-natured face, and was looking penitent.

'Come here, child, and let me fasten your frock properly,' she said;
'you've done it up all wrong.'

Barbara turned her back to her willingly. 'It's awfully bricky of you,'
she said warmly; 'I've never done up my own frock before, and this one
was so complicated, somehow.'

'You must come to me when you want your frocks fastened,' answered her
new friend. 'I sleep next door to you, and I always help Angela, whose
room is on the farther side of mine. You've only got to tap at the door
between, when you are ready. But you mustn't speak in the morning before
breakfast, or in the evening after prayers, because that is against the
rules.'

She fetched a brush and tried to reduce the tangled hair under her hands
to a certain degree of order. Margaret Hulme had disposed of all her
hairpins by this time, and was closely watching a door on the other
side of the gallery. When it at last opened she straightened herself and
prepared for action.

It was Jean Murray who came out of it, rather cautiously at first, then
with a pretence of great unconcern. But her jaunty air completely deserted
her when she saw the little group outside the head girl's door, and she
tried to slink away towards the stairs unnoticed. Margaret called her
back authoritatively, and Jean came slowly and unwillingly round the
gallery.

'Now,' said the head girl, when she was within easy hearing, 'just you
apologise to Barbara Berkeley for hoaxing her just now. If you think
there is anything funny in telling an untruth, I'm sorry for your sense of
humour, and you'd better not do it again in this house. Now then, make
haste about it.'

Barbara tried impetuously to interfere, but Ruth Oliver held her back.
'Hush!' she whispered. 'Leave it to Margaret.'

Jean was shifting from one foot to another, and her mouth began to quiver.
'I didn't know she'd be such a stupid as to believe it,' she muttered.

'My dear child,' said the head girl, blandly, 'nobody supposed you were
any judge of character. So it would clearly be wiser not to play that kind
of joke on any one in future, wouldn't it? Are you going to apol