d do anything."

"You can't. Go back and play basket-ball."

It was not Rodenhurst etiquette for Seniors to talk to Juniors, so
Gwen, mindful even in her forlorn state of her new dignity as a member
of the Upper School, could not indulge in the luxury of a chat with
Lesbia. She wandered down the corridor, read the time sheets and the
announcements on the notice boards, peeped into several empty
classrooms, and was glad for once when the bell rang. At one o'clock
things were no better. She was given a new place at the dinner-table
and had to sit between Rachel Hunter and Edith Arnold, both of whom
behaved as if unaware of her presence, and talked to each other across
her as though she were non-existent. When she asked for the salt
(rather shortly, certainly) Edith only stared and did not pass it. By
the end of the meal Gwen began to feel the situation was getting on
her nerves. She had been fairly popular in the Upper Fourth, so the
change was the more unpleasant.

"I'm not going to give in, though," she thought. "I believe what they
want is to make me ask Miss Roscoe to move me down again. Well,
they'll find themselves mistaken, that's all! I'll stay in the Upper
School if nobody speaks to me till next midsummer, and if I have to
stop up half the night slogging away at my work!"

"How cross that Gwen Gascoyne looks!" whispered Hilda Browne to Iris
Watson.

"Yes, she doesn't seem to want to know us, does she?"

"She needn't, I'm sure. I think she's horrid!"

It was still raining and impossible to go into the playground, so Gwen
strolled into the empty classroom, and for lack of anything else to do
began arranging and rearranging the contents of her desk. She had not
been there more than five minutes when the door opened and Netta
Goodwin, one of her new form-mates, entered, humming a tune. She
glanced at Gwen, went to her own desk, made a pretence of trying to
find a book, sat whistling for a moment or two, then finally turned
towards Gwen.

"Well, how do you like being a Senior?" she asked half mockingly.

"Too soon to tell yet," replied Gwen cautiously. "I shall know better
at the end of a week."

"You've not had a very charming reception so far, have you? I saw how
Rachel and Edith were behaving at dinner."

"I don't care!" snapped Gwen. "I don't want to talk to them, thanks!
The Form can please itself whether it's friendly or leaves me alone as
far as I'm concerned."

Netta whistled softly. There was