for Gwen, in
spite of her well-meant efforts, had not yet won popularity in the
Fifth. She had tried to be genial and sociable, but nobody seemed to
want her. If she joined in a conversation, Rachel Hunter or Edith
Arnold would stare at her as if they thought it great impertinence on
her part to intrude herself into their concerns. They never asked her
opinion, or consulted her about anything, but simply ignored her, and
left her to her own devices. Nearly all the girls lived in Stedburgh,
and their talk was often of Stedburgh affairs, concerts, amateur
dramatic performances, and entertainments in which Gwen, living far
away at Skelwick, could have no possible part. Though she sometimes
got in a word about school matters, her remarks were never well
received, and she was always more or less conscious of being an alien
and an outsider in her Form.

She tried to pretend that she did not care about the opinion of the
others, but it was hard, all the same. Most of us like popularity,
especially when we believe we have done nothing to deserve the
reverse.

"If I'd been as pretty as Lesbia, they'd have made ever such a fuss
over me," thought Gwen. "She's the pet of her form, and the darling of
all the big girls. I'd have been a beauty if I could! They never even
give me a chance to be nice to them--they just leave me alone. Yes,
it's hard!"

But all the while, Father's New Year motto hung over the dressing
table in her bedroom, and every morning she could not help looking at
it. It seemed a stern gospel to pray for strength instead of ease, and
yet it attracted her. After all, was it not a nobler conception of
life to work away and not mind what people thought of you, than to be
always caring whether you were popular? There was a certain joy in
overcoming difficulties, and surmounting obstacles. She was already
succeeding in mastering the lessons that had baffled her at first.
Could she ever win a place for herself in the Form? It would
undoubtedly seem almost a miracle if she did.

"I wonder if I should be happier at another school?" she sometimes
thought. "Dad spoke once of the possibility of sending me to one of
the Clergy Daughters' Schools; he said I might get a scholarship. But
oh, dear! That would mean leaving home, and being a boarder! Suppose
I didn't like it any better than Rodenhurst; then it would be
perfectly awful to have to spend the whole term without once seeing
Dad or any of the others. No, I won't sug