"Look out for eavesdroppers. Your affectionate brother."

The post card was lying on Cecil's plate when she came in to dinner on a certain Saturday afternoon. She hastily slipped it into her pocket. On Saturday afternoon there was, of course, a half holiday. Only those who were working very hard for a coming examination dreamt of turning to books on such a lovely day as this.

Kate, who seemed to have completely recovered her spirits, and who was more popular than ever at St. Dorothy's, was off on a long botanical expedition with several other girls. Molly had a headache, and preferred a quiet time in her own room. Cecil meanwhile felt Jimmy's card burning a hole in her pocket.

"Look out for eavesdroppers," she repeated to herself.

Until she received her brother's frank communication, it had never occurred to her to solve the mystery in this way.

"Eavesdropping is such a schoolboy trick!" she said to herself. "I doubt whether there is anything in Jimmy's solution, but such as it is, I am bound to act on it. I shall visit the summerhouse this afternoon."

Cecil went to her cubicle as this thought came to her, and hastily put on her hat, jacket, and gloves.

"Are you coming with us, Cecil?" called out Kate, who was just preparing for her own walk in the cubicle near by.

"Not to-day," replied Cecil.

"I wish you would; you have more taste for botany than all the other girls at St. Dorothy's put together. I know some rocks where we can get lovely specimens of rare ferns. Do come!"

"No; I can't," replied Cecil.

Her door was a little open; Kate came to it now, and pushed in her laughing face.

"It strikes me," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper as she spoke, "that you do not greatly care to be friends with me."

"Yes, I do, Kate," replied Cecil, "but you are unjust to Molly; you are making Molly suffer very much. There is no one near now, so I am able to speak what is in my mind. Molly is in trouble because you do not believe her. You accuse her in your own mind of a most base and dishonorable act."

"Oh, how you worry me!" said Kate. "Do you think that I would believe anything against Molly if I could help myself? Do you think I want to doubt?"

"You shall not long," said Cecil, with spirit. "I have made up my mind not to leave a stone unturned to set this matter straight. Go for your walk, Kate, enjoy your botany, but try and remember that, because you have so little faith, you are making a most loving and loyal heart suffer. Go! I think you are a noble girl in many ways, but I am surprised at your want of faith."

Kate looked as astonished as if someone had suddenly slapped her in the face. She stood silent for a moment, opened her lips once as if she meant to say something, changed her mind, and went softly away. A moment or two later Cecil left the house.

"I feel as if I were engaged on a very dirty, disagreeable bit of work," she said to herself. "I must find out if it would have been possible for anyone to have overheard Kate's and Molly's conversation. Let me see, an idea comes to me. Why should not Matilda Matthews herself help me to unravel this mystery? Matilda is always dying to be seen with the St. Dorothy girls. I must pander to her weakness a little now. After all, it is in a good cause."

Matilda lived at Dacre House. It was one of the most fashionable of the houses of residence; only really rich girls could afford to go there. Matilda's father and mother had more money than they knew what to do with. Matilda was their only child, and they did not care what expense they lavished on her. Cecil had never yet been to Dacre House. It was at the other side of the great school quadrangle. She soon found herself walking up the wide flight of steps, and ringing the hall door bell. A neatly dressed servant quickly answered her summons.

"I have called to see Miss Matthews. Do you happen to know if she is in?" inquired Cecil.

"I don't know, miss; I'll inquire. Will you come upstairs to the drawing room, please?"

Cecil obeyed.

Dacre House was richly and expensively furnished; there were Turkey carpets on the stairs; the drawing room was a very large and luxurious apartment. Cecil looked round her with a sense of dissatisfaction. She missed the plain, but exquisite, neatness of St. Dorothy's.

"I am glad I am there," she said to herself.

At this moment Matilda entered the room. She quite blushed and giggled when she saw Cecil.

"How do you do?" she said, in a sentimental voice. "Is not the day lovely?"

"Yes," said Cecil. "I want to know if you will come for a walk with me, Matilda?"

"With you?" asked Matilda, her dull eyes lighting up. "Do you want us to be chums?"

Cecil hated herself—she found that to gain her object she must really act with guile. Never before had straightforward Cecil stooped to this sort of work.

"Never mind, it is in the cause of friendship," she said to her aggrieved conscience. Aloud she replied:

"I have not thought whether we are to be chums or not. I simply want a companion to spend the afternoon with me."

"Don't you like the girls at St. Dorothy's?" asked Matilda, in a low voice.

"Of course I do! they are delightful. We can discuss them when we are out—that is, if you are coming."

Matilda had every intention of coming. It was all very well to be rich, and to be surrounded by luxuries, and to be fawned on by girls poorer than herself, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she lacked those things which girls like Cecil Ross and Molly Lavender, and even poor, low-born Kate O'Connor, possessed. She lacked sadly all that nobility of spirit which shone in Cecil's eyes, and was reflected in every tone of Molly's sweet voice. She hated the girls who possessed those gifts which had been denied to her. She underwent unceasing mortification from the fact that her own figure was squat, her own face plain and freckled, from the knowledge that no amount of fine dress could make her look the least like a lady.

"Yes, I'll go," she said, after a pause. "I did not mean to go out this afternoon, for I have just had a new novel sent to me by post, and I meant to sit by the fire and enjoy it, but as you have been good enough to call, Cecil, I won't refuse your request. I dare say you find it rather lonely at present, but you will soon have plenty of friends. Perhaps you know that I am going to St. Dorothy's at the half term. When I go there, I'll promise to do my best for you."

"Well, run and put on your hat now," said Cecil, "and let us start."

"Where shall we go?" asked Matilda, when the girls had left Dacre House.

"Shall we go to the big playground first? I have not half seen it."

"We'll go there, if you like; but I don't care for hockey, lacrosse, nor any of those mannish games. My father is old-fashioned; he likes me to be thoroughly educated, but he always says, 'Be feminine before all things, Matilda.' I think hockey, and cricket, and cycling so very unfeminine, don't you?"

"Not at all," replied Cecil. "Of course, taken in excess, they may be bad; but, really," she added, "I have not studied the subject."

"Nor have I—not seriously. I hate discussing all those women's questions; we're always having them in our debating society. After all, what is the use? I, for one, mean to marry well. My idea is to marry a man twice my own age, because he will make a pet of me. I'd rather be an old man's darling, than a young man's slave; wouldn't you, Cecil?"

"I don't intend to be either," replied Cecil.

"Do you mind my leaning on you?" asked Matilda. "I'm quite certain we'll be chums. I like your face; you don't know how I admire independent sort of girls like you. How fast you walk! It quite blows me to walk as fast as that. Ah, that's better, let me catch on to your arm; you don't mind, do you?"

If Cecil had spoken the truth, she would have said, "I mind intensely." As it was, she made no response. Matilda took silence for consent. One or two of the St. Dorothy girls passed them, and stared when they saw who Cecil Ross' companion was.

"What conceited creatures those schoolgirls are!" said Matilda. "And of all the girls in the place none give themselves such airs as those who live at St. Dorothy's. Well, here we are at the playground. What do you mean to do, now we have got here, Cecil? For my part, I am not a good walker; I require plenty of rest; I have none of the muscle which characterises the modern girl."

"I should think not," thought Cecil to herself. Aloud she said:

"If you are tired, we can sit in the summerhouse."

"A good idea," responded Matilda; "we can watch the girls at their cricket and lacrosse from there. Let us go straight to the summerhouse, and look on at the different games. I don't object to looking on, but I hate joining. When first I went to Dacre House, I was forced to join, but now, thank goodness! I am past that stage. Of course, when I go to St. Dorothy's, I shall be more or less my own mistress."

"What a big world this great school is!" said Cecil.

"Yes, isn't it?" replied Matilda. "But though it's big, it's narrow, too. Do you see that set of girls over there? They are most of them in dark blue, with white sailor hats; they live in Miss Ford's house. Miss Ford and Mrs. Churchill put on the most fearful airs, and so do their girls. The girls in those two houses are the aristocrats of the school; one or two of them have titles, and several are honorables. Father made a great effort to get me into Mrs. Churchill's house. Father is first cousin to Sir John Jones, and Sir John Jones was made a baronet ten years ago; but Mrs. Churchill is so exclusive, and when she heard that father had made his money by tallow, it was decided that I had better go to Dacre House. Don't you think all that sort of thing very ridiculous?"

"I am incapable of judging," replied Cecil. "I suppose as long as the world lasts there will be distinctions of class."

"Oh, good gracious! how frightfully conservative and old-fashioned you are!"

"Not at all; you mistake me. I am indifferent myself to all that sort of thing. I have come to school to study; I want to get the governors' scholarship, if I can."

"You belong to the distinction of talent. I have no doubt you are clever; you look it. For my part, I hate study, and, if it were not for mother, would not dream of going to Cambridge. But mother's heart is set on it; Sir John Jones' daughter is at Girton now, and she hopes I may make her acquaintance. I know that is the real reason she is sending me, but I hope you won't repeat it."

Cecil shut her lips; she was quite silent.

They soon reached the summerhouse, and seated themselves in such a position that they had a good view of the field. Several games were going on vigorously, and Cecil's thoughts reverted to her brothers. She wondered if they, too, were having a good time on that bright Saturday afternoon.

"By the way," said Matilda, in a low, wheedling sort of tone; "talking of rank and all that, don't you think it is odd of Miss Forester to allow a girl like Kate O'Connor to come to Redgarth?"

"Why?" asked Cecil calmly.

"Why? Need you ask? Her origin!"

"What about her origin?" asked Cecil.

"Well," Matilda giggled, "I think she has explained all that herself."

"She has told us of a very beautiful life which she led in Ireland," said Cecil. "I fail to see where her low origin comes in. Hers was the sort of life which Tennyson, if he were now alive, would write a lovely ballad about."

"Oh, if you take it in that spirit, I have not a word to say," replied Matilda. "I knew there were some silly, romantic, sentimental girls at St. Dorothy's, but I did not know that you were one. I am glad it has not been my lot in life to milk cows, and clean dairies, and weed stupid little gardens."

"And read Shakspere, and the Bible, and the book of nature," continued Cecil, in fine scorn. "Such privileges are only accorded to the few."

"I suppose Kate is one of nature's ladies," said Matilda, in a reflective tone. "I suppose you are all going to take her up more heartily than ever, after her extraordinary exhibition the other night?"

"After the very beautiful poem which she recited in our presence," cried Cecil. "Yes; we will all take her up warmly."

"I could see that there was a good deal of hurt feeling behind all that fine oration," responded Matilda, after a pause; "I expect she was very angry with her dear friend Molly Lavender for betraying her."

"Molly never betrayed her," replied Cecil, with firmness.

"Oh, my dear Cecil! how can you believe that story? Why, Molly even hinted two or three things to me."

"Did she? I was going to ask you about those two or three things," said Cecil.

Matilda fidgeted uneasily.

"I don't mean that she said much," she interrupted.

"Precisely; perhaps you will tell me what she did say."

"How can I recollect now?"

"You must recollect," said Cecil suddenly. "The fact is this: Molly declares that she never repeated a single word of Kate's confidence to you. You must tell what she really said, Matilda, and perhaps the best way—the very best way—is to tell me in Molly's own presence."

"You frighten me," said Matilda. "You know how I hate getting into rows. There is not a girl in the whole school who hates that sort of thing more than I do; I believe you brought me out here on purpose."

"I thought perhaps you would help me," said Cecil. "The fact is, I am very unhappy about this. Molly is supposed by Kate to have betrayed her secret. Kate and Molly were great friends; now their friendship has been completely broken. Molly's word is beyond suspicion. Do you know, Matilda,"—Cecil stood up as she spoke,—"do you know that it was in this summerhouse, just here, that Kate told Molly that beautiful story of her early home which she repeated again for our benefit a few nights ago?"

"Was it?" replied Matilda. Her mottled face grew red; her small eyes did not dare to meet Cecil's. "I am sure," she added sulkily, "I don't care where it was told; I knew nothing about it. Molly herself told me the very little I know; other girls seemed to have heard of it at the same time."

"Molly never told you," said Cecil; "that is a lie!"

"How dare you, Cecil Ross, accuse me of anything so unladylike? I shall not stay another moment in your presence."

"Yes, you shall," replied Cecil. "I don't mean to conceal my motives any longer from you. I suspect you of having got your information, not from Molly, who would rather cut out her tongue than betray her friend, but in some underhand way. Yes, I am very angry and very determined, and I am not the sister of four brothers, and I have not got to fight my own way in the world, for nothing. I know I am a new girl at St. Dorothy's, and a new member of this great school, but that will not deter me from trying to clear up this mischief as soon as possible."

"Oh, what a shabby, mean wretch you are!" cried Matilda. "I shall leave you at once."

"You need not stay long, but you shall until I do what I have come to do. This door is open, but I see that it can be shut, and that there is a key to it. I mean to lock the door while I explore this summerhouse."

Cecil walked quickly to the entrance as she spoke. She was a head and shoulders over Matilda, and had twice her physical strength. Matilda rushed to the door to escape, but Cecil was too quick for her. In a moment the door was locked; the key was in Cecil's pocket. She turned round and faced her angry companion. Matilda was now as frightened as she was angry. She had never met determination like Cecil's before. She sat down on the nearest chair and began to cry.

"Oh, how awfully shabby and unkind you are!" she cried. "What can you mean to do with me?"

"Nothing; you shall help me to search the summerhouse."

"What for?"

"Just to see if, by any possibility, Kate's and Molly's conversation could have been overheard."

"I won't do it, Cecil Ross; I won't!"

"All right; you can sit in that corner, and I'll search by myself."

Cecil felt herself at that moment endowed with all Jimmy's detective qualities; she moved the simple furniture, and poked about for a time without success, but suddenly observing a row of bats on the wooden wall, just on a level with the bench on which she and Matilda had been seated, she removed them one by one. Behind one of the bats was a notch of wood, out of which a hard wood kernel had been carefully removed. A round hole was therefore distinctly visible, against which a person from outside might put either an ear or an eye.

"This hole looks rather suspicious," said Cecil. "Matilda, will you kindly come forward, and let me see if you are the right height to use such a peep-hole with advantage?"

"I won't! I daren't!" said Matilda. "I hate you, Cecil."

"Well," said Cecil, "you have only one thing to do. I know by your face that you are guilty. I was not, of course, at all certain when we started out on our walk this afternoon, but now I know. If you refuse to confess, I will go to Miss Forester and tell her what I suspect."

"A nice life you will have at Redgarth, if you begin by telling tales!" said Matilda, in faltering tones.

"I don't care a bit about that. I'm not going to have that old bugbear cast up against me; it will not prevent me on this occasion from doing my duty. You have just confessed that Molly told you certain matters which gave you the clew to Kate's past. Had you not better tell me everything at once?"

"Oh, what a fearful, fearful girl you are!" sobbed Matilda. "Oh, I won't stay another day at Redgarth!"

"If you confess the simple truth," repeated Cecil, "I will do my utmost to shield you. I mean I will do all in my power to prevent the school generally, and the teachers, knowing of your baseness. Of course, Kate and Molly must know directly. Now, you can choose."

Matilda sat huddled up against the wall. It would have been difficult to see a more abject figure than hers.

"Molly told me," she began at last. "I asked her if Kate——"

"Wait a moment," said Cecil suddenly. "I have changed my mind about hearing you alone. Molly is at home; she is in her room. You shall come to her at once; you shall tell me in her presence exactly what occurred."

"I won't! you can't force me!" cried Matilda.

At this moment the handle of the summerhouse door was forcibly turned from without.

"Who has locked the door?" cried Miss Leicester's voice.

"That is right," said Cecil, with a sigh of relief. "Miss Leicester will soon put things straight. Wait one moment, Miss Leicester, and I will let you in."

"Oh, don't, I beg of you, betray me to Miss Leicester!" cried Matilda.

"Will you come to Molly at once, then?"

"I will; anything rather than that Miss Leicester should know."

"All right; if you even attempt to escape, I will repeat to Miss Leicester all that I have said to you."

As Cecil said these last words, she turned the key in the door, opened it wide, and stood before her astonished principal.

"My dear," said that good lady, "why did you lock the door?"

"I was having a very important talk with Matilda," said Cecil.

"But to lock the door! It is not the custom, Cecil."

"I am sorry; I won't do it again," said Cecil.

"Can you not give me your reason?"

"I am dreadfully sorry, I cannot."

Miss Leicester looked from one girl to the other: there was a look in Cecil's eyes, an expression about Matilda's mouth, which made her feel that the solution of a very unpleasant mystery was about to be made.

"Don't lock the summerhouse again, dear," she said, in a kindly voice to her pupil. She then walked past the two girls to fetch her tennis bat, which was hanging on the wall.

"Come, Matilda," said Cecil. She held out her hand as she spoke; Matilda took it grudgingly.

On the way to the playground, she had been glad enough to show all the world that she was one of Cecil Ross' friends; on her return, she would have been only too thankful to be miles away from this very determined young person. But in vain did she look from right to left for a loophole to escape. After a few minutes' quick walking, the two girls found themselves at St. Dorothy's; a moment later they stood outside Molly Lavender's door. Cecil knocked softly.

"Come in," called Molly's voice.

Her headache had grown so bad that she had been forced to lie down, but she started upright when she saw who was following Cecil into the room.

"I am sorry to disturb you," said Cecil; "but I think it is worth while, for the matter I have come about is somewhat important. Matilda wants to say something to you, Molly."

"What?" asked Molly. "Won't you sit down, Matilda? How do you do?"

Matilda flopped down on the nearest chair. She took off her hat, and wiped the moisture from her hot forehead.

"This is a very disagreeable business," she said, "and I can't imagine what Cecil Ross is about."

"Yes, you know perfectly well," said Cecil. "The fact is this, Molly: I had a walk with Matilda this afternoon. We sat in the summerhouse; we spoke of you and Kate O'Connor. While we were there I told Matilda that some of the mischievous reports with regard to poor Kate had been traced to her. In reply, she said that she had only circulated what you yourself had told her."

"What I told her?" repeated Molly, her eyes and cheeks alike flaming.

"Yes; and I thought the matter so important that I insisted on her coming here to tell her story to you direct."

"But I never told you anything, Matilda," said Molly.

"Yes, you did," said Matilda, driven to bay; "but I won't repeat it. I won't say anything unless—unless you, Cecil, promise."

"Oh, I'll promise! and so will Molly," said Cecil, in a somewhat careless and very scornful tone.

"What are we to promise?" said Molly.

"Matilda does not want to get into trouble with the authorities," said Cecil. "We can shield her from that, I suppose—that is, if she tells us the whole truth without any reservation."

Molly put her hand to her brow.

"I am quite bewildered," she said. "I never told you anything, Matilda. Oh, I must leave the matter in your hands, Cecil! Promise her anything, only get her to tell me the truth now."

"Well," said Matilda, "don't you remember one day at lecture when I spoke to you? You hated my doing so, I know."

"Of course I did," said Molly.

"Well, I spoke to you about Kate."

"I begin to remember," said Molly. "I was glad, for you spoke kindly of her."

"I asked you," continued Matilda, "if you did not consider Kate out of the common. I said that very likely she was one of those brave girls who had known poverty and had risen above it. I asked you if you did not think her one of nature's ladies. You replied that every word I said was the perfect truth. I went on to ask you: 'Has she not known poverty and risen above it?' You replied: 'Yes, she has had a noble life.'"

"And is that all?" said Molly, springing from her sofa and beginning to pace the room. "Oh, how mean, how mean you are! You drew me out on purpose. I only spoke in a general way. Oh, Matilda, how could you be so frightfully underhand?"

"That was not the way you got your information," said Cecil, in her calm, clear voice. "What about the little hole at the back of the summerhouse, which I proved by measurement to be exactly on a level with your ear?"

Matilda colored crimson.

"You must tell everything," continued Cecil, "or I shall take this story straight to Miss Forester."

"If I must, I must; after all, why should I care what girls like you think about me? I——" She paused.

"Go on," said Cecil; "we're both listening."

"There is not much in it, after all. What an awful fuss you do make! I was at the back of the summerhouse, tying up my shoe. I heard Kate and Molly talking; the hole in the wood was quite handy. I did listen for a bit, I heard something."

"And you questioned Molly on purpose," said Cecil; "in order to give color to the horrid story which you meant to tell."

"The fact is, I hated you, Molly Lavender, from the first," said Matilda. "You snubbed me and were disagreeable; I thought I'd have my revenge, that's all. I suppose I may go now?"

"Not a bit of it," said Cecil. "Before you leave this room, you have got to write down every word you have just told me. Here is paper; here are pens and ink; seat yourself; write away."

"Oh, but I really don't want to put the thing on paper!"

"All right; then Miss Forester shall hear this little story."

"Before I write anything," said Matilda, "I must know to whom my confession is to be repeated?"

Cecil spoke without hesitation.

"Kate O'Connor must know first of all," she said; "also Hester Temple. I have given you my word that what we say shall not reach any of the authorities, but Molly and Hester and Kate and I must have a consultation with regard to whether the other girls in the school are to know the truth or not. Now, sit down; write, and be quick about it."

The miserable Matilda saw no help for it. Cecil was a great deal too strong for her in every sense of the word.