Star was pacing up and down in one of the corridors when Christian went past. Star called out when she saw her:

"Christian, are you using your Greek history to-night?"

"No."

"Will you lend it to me? I can't find my own copy."

"Oh, yes, with pleasure, Star. Shall I fetch it for you?"

"No; just tell me where it is and I'll get it."

"In the bookcase in front of my desk. I put it there this afternoon. It is on the third shelf."

"Thanks awfully," said Star. "What are you doing with yourself?"

"I am going to Susan; she asked me to have cocoa with her to-night."

It was one of the privileges of Penwerne Manor that the girls who slept in the White Corridor could entertain their friends now and then to cocoa. This was really anticipating their Girton or Newnham days; but for girls who were in their teens Miss Peacock was of the opinion that such privileges were good instead of harmful.

Christian ran on, therefore, in the direction of Susan's room. Star turned to Angela Goring, who happened to be walking with her when they met Christian.

"How queer she looked!" said Star.

"Do you know," replied Angela, "I am quite certain that something extraordinary is going to happen at the next meeting of the Penwernians. I can't quite make out what it is. I suspected it for some time, but when I found Susan slipping in at the back-door with a great brown-paper parcel in her hand I thought it was time to interfere.

"'Have you been shopping?' I said. 'You know we are not allowed to shop by ourselves.'

"'Old Betty, the cake-woman, gave me this,' said Susan.

"I dare say she did. It was a very big parcel. Of course it found its way to the front attic. I often wonder if we do ourselves any good by belonging to the Penwernians."

"Yes, we do. Don't be so goody-goody, Angela," cried Star. "I wouldn't do anything dishonorable, or what our darling Miss Peacock didn't approve of, for the whole world; but there's no harm in having a bit of a lark once a fortnight or so. Of course, I wouldn't regularly break the rules; but where Miss Jessie doesn't interfere, I must confess I feel my own conscience quite light. Now come along; I want to work up a little piece of Greek history. I don't half know the particulars of that famous trial of Socrates, and Professor French does so pounce on you when you happen to make a mistake."

The girls entered the classroom where the fourth class had their lessons. Star approached Christian's bookshelf, took down Grote's History of Greece, and getting into a comfortable corner, opened it lazily. Angela approached her own desk, turned on the electric light and prepared to get her French exercise into as perfect order as she could.

Presently a cry from Star smote on her ears.

"Why, do look!" she said.

"What?" asked Angela.

"Oh! come here, Angela; this is too funny. See what I found in Christian's book."

As Star spoke she held up a sheet of paper. On it was written a whole list of eatables, which Star proceeded to read aloud:

"Twelve plum-tarts, twelve apricot-tarts, twelve cheese-cakes, two dozen sponge-cakes, four dozen sponge-fingers, one plum-cake, twenty-four bottles of ginger-beer, two pounds of mixed sweets."

These different items, jotted down one below the other, had their prices put against them, and the grand total amounted to nine and sixpence. There was a scrawled "Paid" put below the little account, and Star, peering down at it with her bright eyes, saw the stamp belonging to a well-known grocer in the town.

"How strange," she said. "Christian buying a whole lot of things for herself at Dawson's? Certainly neither Miss Peacock nor Jessie knows anything of this. What can it mean?"

"Oh, I know very well what it means," said Angela. "You rather crushed me just now when I spoke, but I am certain there are going to be high-jinks at the next meeting of the Penwernians. I am also sure there will be an open act of disobedience. This seems to confirm it."

"But think of Christian being mixed up with it," said Star. "Why, it's scandalous. Christian, of all people, buying a lot of food and smuggling it in. We always have been allowed to get a few sweets or chocolates when we pleased, but it was also an understood matter that we were never to have regular feasts in the house. And one of our best-understood rules is this: we are not to buy things from the tradespeople. Nine-and-sixpence worth. Dear me! Christian must be running through her money very fast."

"She had two pounds when she first came," said Angela. "I know it, for she mentioned it; but when I asked her on Saturday last if she would lend me sixpence until my pocket-money was paid, she got that dreadful bright crimson all over her face, and then said, 'I am ever so sorry, but I haven't got it.'"

"What nonsense!" said Star. "It strikes me it is our duty is to look into this. Of course, Susan is at the bottom of it. But what a weak girl Christian must be! I am terribly disappointed in her."

"What are you going to do with that account?" asked Angela.

"Put it into my pocket and confront her with it," said Star. "She won't escape me. I shall know the truth before I am twenty-four hours older."

Angela said nothing further. She went back to her interrupted work; and Star, folding the little account into small compass, slipped it into her purse, and then resumed her study of the trial of Socrates.

The girls said nothing more with regard to this discovery; but the next day, as they were busy over their customary studies, Star from time to time watched Christian. Whatever Christian's faults might be, she was certainly a splendid student. She always mastered her lessons in that intelligent way which so delights all teachers. Her object was progress—progress at any cost. When such is the case a girl becomes delightful to teach, and those who have charge of her education give her every advantage.

Christian was already, in the opinion of some of the girls, made too much of by her teachers and by the professors.

She worked hard now, and when the time came for the history and literature lessons she acquitted herself with her customary brilliance. The literature lesson that day was particularly interesting. It related to the trial of Socrates. It was the custom of the professor to get one girl to give a description of the lesson. To-day it was Christian's turn. Wildly enthusiastic over the greatness of the theme, she acquitted herself so magnificently that she even won the unwilling praise of Star herself. Star could never feel enthusiastic about those who were dead and gone; but Christian, as she spoke, was living back again in the ancient times. She was with the marvelous old philosopher in the market-place at Athens: she was one of those Athenian youths who crowded around him to listen to his teaching. It seemed to her that she saw the great Socrates as she spoke. There he was, harsh, ugly, forbidding, as far as exterior went; but, oh! the magical power of his voice, the thrilling sympathy in his words, the tenderness with which he addressed those who listened to him. It seemed to Christian Mitford that morning that she lived in that far-gone time. Her voice broke as she related the end of the famous trial—the reply of Socrates when he was asked what change he would wish in the sentence of death—the scorn of his words, the indignation of his judges. Finally she told of the moment when he drank the cup of hemlock and sank away into the arms of death, one of the greatest men that ever lived.

"Thank you," said Professor French. His eyes were shining as he listened to Christian's words.

Now she returned to her seat. Her eyes shone. Star, as she watched her, could not but admire; but she also pitied.

Christian was just about to put her Greek history-book in its place on the shelf when something arrested her attention. She opened the book quickly, turned page after page, and finally shook it, as though by that means she might find what she sought. Star drew close to her.

"Have you lost anything?" she asked.

"Yes, but it doesn't matter."

"Professor Munro, young ladies," called the voice of an English teacher, and another professor entered the room.

A new lesson proceeded, and again Christian scored.

Between eleven and twelve came the welcome hour of recess, and it was then that Star went up to her classmate.

"Aren't you very proud of yourself?" she asked.

"I?" answered Christian. "Certainly not."

"Then you ought to be. I never cared for poor old Socrates before. I thought it so tiresome that a man who lived so far back should still be able to worry the girls of the twentieth century. I didn't think it at all necessary to learn about him."

Christian made no reply.

"But you have made him live. Oh, how you spoke, and how your eyes shone!"

"I was interested," said Christian briefly.

Her tone annoyed Star, who began to speak less kindly.

"I wonder," she said, "if what you couldn't find when the Greek history lesson was over has got, in some strange manner, into my possession. You looked for something?"

"Yes; I put a mark in the place, and the mark was gone."

"A piece of paper?"

"Yes."

"Had it any writing on it?"

"Some items. Do you think it could be found?"

Star took out her purse, opened it, and held up the paper a few feet from Christian.

"Twelve plum-tarts," she began, "twelve apricot-tarts, twelve cheese-cakes——"

"Oh, don't go on! That paper is mine," said Christian. She turned very red. "Give it to me," she continued; "I want it."

"Of course you want it," replied Star; "but if you have no objection, I think I will just keep it."

"But why should you, Star? It's mine; please, give it to me." Christian's voice became full of distress.

"I am ever so sorry, dear, but really I don't think I can, I want it. I won't show it to anyone, of course, but I want to keep it, just as a little piece of evidence. Christian, do you know what you are doing?"

"I know quite well."

"Don't you realize that you are disobeying one of the most severe rules of the school?"

"Yes, I know."

"Did you buy those things at Dawson's?"

"You have no right to question me."

"But did you?"

"Yes."

"Out of your own money?"

"Certainly."

"You knew you were disobeying?"

"I did."

"What does this mean, Christian?"

"I can't tell you. Think of me as you please. If you show what you found when I kindly lent you my history book, you will be the meanest girl on earth."

"I am certainly not that; but you had better beware, for if you suppose that Susan's ways, and Mary Hillary's ways, and Maud Thompson's ways, and—oh, that I should have to say it!—your ways are going to be tolerated by the better class of girls in this school, you are mistaken. It is within your power to give a very serious warning to Susan; for we girls who like our fun, and yet are not really disobeying the mistresses, are in the preponderance, whatever you may think."