Two or three days after the events related in the last chapter, Susan Marsh might have been seen pacing up and down with her chosen friend Maud Thompson. Maud, compared to Susan, was rather a pretty girl; and under other influences she might have been a good girl. She had taken a fancy to Christian, and was telling Susan of this fact.

"Like her as much as ever you please," said Susan, "but remember she is my prey."

"Your prey, Susan! Whatever do you mean? Sometimes you don't talk at all nicely."

"Lower your voice a little, my love," said Susan; "we don't want the others to hear us. We have a whole quarter of an hour, and I have a plan in my head."

"You always are planning things. But I do want to talk about Christian now. I can't think why you call her your prey."

"Of course, I have no secrets from you, Maud; you are my chosen friend, and would not dare to betray me, even if you wished to do so. But the fact is, I have got hold of the poor dear's secret."

"Christian Mitford's secret?"

"Yes; the true story of her unavoidable detention."

"I wonder she won't tell us about that. She never will. It rather surprises me," said Maud.

"Rest assured, dear Maud, that she is never likely to tell you. She would be a mighty great fool if she did."

"And you know all about it?"

"I know all about it, sweet? Oh, yes."

"You look very queer, Susan. I wish you would not have that——"

"That what, Maudie?"

"That sort of pleasure in seeing people unhappy. It isn't nice."

"Oh, isn't it, Maud? What about the kind friend who gets others out of their troubles. You know——"

"You needn't go into that," said Maud, coloring and then turning white.

"Ah! but I thought I'd just remind you, dear. But to return to our beloved Christian. She really is a very noble specimen of her name—very conscientious and all that—but, notwithstanding, I think we shall get her to do pretty much what we like; and all and entirely by means of that little secret of hers, which she must never tell except, to your humble servant."

"But why—why—why?"

"Oh, inquisitive one. Your desires are not to be gratified. But now to turn to other matters. I propose that we shall have a very great feast in the front attic, to which all members of the Penwernian Society are to be invited, on the second Saturday in February. That is exactly one fortnight from now. We must have a real supper, and everything in first-rate style; and Florence Dixie and her two friends, Ethel and Emma Manners, are all to be invited."

"What nonsense! You know quite well we can't invite strangers to the front attic. It is bad enough to have these feasts at all, as it were, in the dark, and with Jessie knowing all the time."

"Jessie will never tell. And don't you know by this time, Maud, that Miss Peacock—the dear, blessed, saintly Lavinia—winks at our little peccadillos? She could find out if she chose to, but she is too wise, bless her, the darling! Well, of course, neither Jessie nor Miss Peacock is to know of this. I have spoken already to Florence Dixie and to the two Manners girls, and they are wild to come. They want to join the society, but of course that can't be entertained; I do draw the line at that. We shall get them in by means of a ladder put up to the window. Won't it be splendid?"

"It certainly will," said Maud. "How daring you are, Susan! Do you think Star and Lucy and Angela will join us?"

"Do I think ducks will swim?" was Susan's remark. "But now, my dear love, in order to have these girls we must have funds. What do you think of this?"

As Susan spoke she thrust her hand into her pocket and drew out a whole beautiful golden sovereign.

"Why, Susan," said Maud, in astonishment, "however did you get it?"

"From the dear, the precious young Christian. The price of her detention, you understand."

"Oh, you are not blackmailing the poor child? How wrong of you! How cruel!"

"You use very ugly words, Maud; you forget yourself. Now, the fewer questions you ask the better. This sovereign will buy a grand supper, and we shall have a jolly time."

"But if we are found out. You know how furious Miss Peacock would be at our introducing outsiders into the school."

"We won't be found out; we shall be far too careful for that. But please understand, Maud, that what I have told you is in strictest confidence; you must not breathe it to another soul. Meanwhile you may be as nice as you like to Christian. Go and talk to her now, poor child! She is standing over there by herself, looking desolate and gazing out to sea."

"I won't go to her," said Maud. "Some of the things you do, Susan, make me wretched. I do wish you'd be straight and nice and honorable like Star. I am sure she has no end of fun in her, and is most daring, but she would never stoop to your sort of things."

"Really, Maud, I don't know what to make of you. If you go on like this I shall have to get some other girl to be my special friend; and then, dear little love, look out for squalls, for don't you remember——"

Susan bent and whispered into Maud's tiny, shell-like ear. Maud colored.

"Go and look up your lessons," continued Susan, pushing her away with a contemptuous motion; "your French was not specially creditable to-day. I will approach Christian and have a chat with her."

Maud ran off at once. Susan looked after her. Susan's overhanging brows gave a decided scowl to her face.

She approached Christian Mitford softly, and when she came within a short distance, said in a mincing voice, and in the tone of a person drawling out a hymn:

Christian turned at once angrily. "I don't want to speak to you," she said.

"But you must, love; you really must. We are going to have such a lovely time in the attic on Saturday fortnight—the best we ever had—and you are to be present, and we are all to wear our white dresses. We will look like so many cherubs, won't we? And there's to be such a supper—got out of your sovereign, darling."

"Susan, I can't give you any more money. I only had two sovereigns when Miss Neil left me; she said they were to last until——"

"How long, dearest? Until you ran away again?"

"Oh, don't!" said Christian. "How cruel you are! I have almost made up my mind——"

"What, Christian? To what have you made up your mind?"

"That I won't stand this. It would be much—much braver to me to tell. I'll consult Star; she will know how to advise me."

Now, this was the very last thing that Susan wished. Although she was quite certain that she herself could so manage matters as to send Christian to Coventry if she did tell, she also knew that if Star discovered the truth, she (Susan) would be the person reduced to that uncomfortable position.

"It would be madness for you to tell Star," she said, changing her tone to one of great sympathy. "She's a very upright, honorable sort of girl; she would be shocked—absolutely shocked."

"Are you sure? She always seems so kind; although of late somehow she has not taken much notice of me."

Susan laughed. "Take my advice," she said, "and keep your own counsel. Tell no one except your own Susy, who, of course, won't repeat anything. I have nearly done getting what money I want from you; and isn't it better to be a little short of funds than to be hated by everybody? Come, now; let's take a walk and have a cozy-pozy time together."

Susan's "cozy-pozy time" was scarcely enjoyed by Christian, who was learning to dislike her companion more and more day by day. The young girl often wondered at the intense feeling of hatred that was growing up in her heart for this disagreeable and wicked girl.

"How little I knew when I ran away what it would all mean!" thought the poor child. "Oh, dear! if only father and mother were in England I might consult them. But there is no one—no one to go to for help."

Susan did not find her companion very agreeable, and after informing her of this fact in no flattering terms, ran off to seek more congenial friends.

The girls always had an hour to themselves in the early part of the afternoon, when they might do exactly as they liked. They need not walk, they need not study; they might wander in the grounds, or they might sit by the comfortable schoolroom fires, or they might visit the boudoirs.

Amongst the special attractions to be found at Penwerne Manor were the boudoirs. These consisted of a number of small rooms, beautifully furnished, very bright, very cheerful, and specially devoted to the girls of the school. Each class had a room to itself, but a girl belonging to one class could invite a friend to have tea with her in another boudoir or classroom, provided the invitation was given for this special hour. At other times each class was expected to keep strictly to its own boudoir.

Christian had long rejoiced in the fact that she was in the same class as Star Lestrange, and equally was she delighted to know that Susan, a much bigger and older girl, was two classes lower down in the school. Susan would never have dreamt of bullying so clever a girl as Christian but for the rare chance of having discovered her secret.

Feeling cold and chilly now, the young girl crossed the wide hall, went down the corridor where the boudoirs were situated, and opened the door of the fourth class boudoir and entered. This room went by the name of the Hall of Good Nature. It was one of Miss Peacock's curious fancies to call the boudoirs after virtues; Charity Hall, Hope Hall, Kindness Hall, were to be found in the little group. The name of each room was carved in white over the lintel of the door, and now as Christian entered she raised her eyes to look at the words.

"The Hall of Good Nature," she said to herself.

She uttered a deep sigh. She wondered if there was any real kindness left in the world. She felt terribly lonely and depressed. But for Susan, and but for her own wrong-doing, how happy she would be here! For she could not help confessing to herself that the life was beautiful; all its days were planned out with such true common-sense and such broad ideas with regard to all that was necessary for the growth of young and sensitive girls, that happiness could not but be the result. There were strong interests, too, in the school, and Miss Lavinia herself was so delightful that to obtain a kind word from her or a smile from her face was sufficient incentive for any amount of hard work.

But Christian was not happy. She was doing well; her lessons were a mere nothing to her. But for the sake of Star she would have made violent efforts to get into the fifth class, but she liked Star and did not wish to leave her. Nevertheless, strange as it may seem, Star took very little notice of her of late; she rather avoided her than otherwise, and this seemed the last drop in Christian's cup of bitterness.

She was thinking now of all these things, puzzling over them, and wiping away a tear which would now and then start to her eyes, when the door was opened somewhat noisily, and Star Lestrange, accompanied by Angela Goring, dashed into the room.

"Oh, bother!" she said aloud when she saw Christian, and then she stopped short and was about to go away.

But Christian rose quickly.

"Don't go, please, Star," she said. "I was resting just for a minute or two; I am all right now. I will go and have a walk round the grounds before lesson-hour."

"But you mustn't; it is so cold," said Angela. "Why, what is the matter, Christian?"

For Angela had caught sight of Christian's face, and had noticed the large tear-drop on her cheek which rolled down and disappeared even as she spoke.

"I'm all right, really. Please don't go away," said Christian. "Why shouldn't you stay?"

Star suddenly changed her mind.

"You belong to us, Chris, don't you?"

"I thought so—I hoped so," was Christian's answer.

There was a note of hope in her voice.

"We have been rather puzzled about you, all the same," said Star, sinking into a chair and spreading out her hands to the blaze. "Angel, sit down by my side and warm yourself, pet. We have been rather amazed that you have taken up with Susan Marsh. Don't you know—— Oh, of course, I mustn't say a word; it wouldn't be gentlemanly; and whatever happens, I will be a gentleman. I'd hate to be a lady. A gentlemanly girl is my ideal of the perfect girl, and I hope I am that, so I won't speak against a schoolfellow. But, all the same, she's not your sort—not really."

"I know. Do you think I like her?"

"Actions speak louder than words, my dear. You are with her always, sniggering in corners, and looking so mysterious; her hand in yours, and her arm round your waist. Faugh! it makes me sick. Doesn't it you, Angel?"

"Perhaps Christian can explain," said Angela, who had a very kind face and read trouble in Christian's eyes.

"Do explain, Chris; there's a darling," said Star. "We want to be nice to you, both Angel and I, but we can't cotton to your friend, and that's a fact. Now tell us, why do you go with her? Why are you always following her about, or she following you about? You are so absolutely unlike the sort of girl who ought to be with her that it is more or less, the talk of the school. You'll tell us, won't you?"

"I'm afraid, I can't. I wish I could."

"Oh, then," Star's sweetness suddenly left her.

She became her old, somewhat severe, satirical little self once more.

"She won't be bold and tell us, the charming young thing!" she sang out, letting her voice drop from the ceiling almost into Christian's ears.

"Oh, Star, can't you understand? I am unhappy. Oh! I daren't say another word; only the fact of your not liking me makes me miserable. I was never away from home before. Do be kind to me, Star."

"I will if you tell me the truth; but I won't if you keep up the mystery. So now you can choose. Give me your confidence and I'll get you out of your worries, whatever they are."

Just at that minute a head was poked round the curtain and the face of Susan Marsh appeared.

"Wherever have you hid yourself, Christian? You are wanted immediately. Maudie and I and Mary Hillary are all waiting for your Royal Highness."

"Come in, Susan," said Star suddenly.

Susan advanced into the room. Notwithstanding all her would-be indifference, there was a slightly alarmed expression in her eyes.

"You have done something to this poor girl," said Star. "You have frightened her, and we want her to tell us. It is most unaccountable your being friends with the sort of girl Christian Mitford is."

"What?" said Susan; "is she too good for me?"

"She is different from you," said Star boldly. "She isn't a bit your sort, and you know it. Why are you so chummy with her? Will you tell us the reason?"

"She had best tell you herself; I give her leave," said Susan.

She stood and faced Christian with a daring, impish expression on her face. Her eyes beneath their thick brows seemed to dart as though they would pierce through the young girl's soul; their expression was altogether too much for Christian.

"I can't tell," she said. "I suppose it is all right. I'll go with you, Susan, if you want me."

"Yes, you had better," said Star rudely, "for we don't care for the Susan Marsh sort of girls here."