At ten minutes to seven that evening two girls might have been seen strolling leisurely in the direction of the bowling-alley. The fog had lifted, and the clouds had rolled by. The evenings were getting long now, and there was still plenty of daylight.

The girls entered the bowling-alley and paced up and down. Their arms were entwined; they were talking eagerly. One girl was Susan Marsh, and the other her special friend Maud Thompson.

"Well," said Maud, "what do you mean to do? Star is quite certain not to give up the bill. Will you confess to her? Will you throw yourself on her mercy?"

"Never!" said Susan. "I am not that sort."

Maud's eyes narrowed. She looked frightened.

"It is a very awkward thing," she said after a pause, "and it makes me downright uncomfortable. Just at present, too, when the Easter holidays are coming; and then all the prizes which we are to compete for at the grand break-up in summer. It's horrid to be in hot water, and we are certain to be if it is known that you sent Christian to Dawson's to buy those things."

"She won't tell," said Susan. "Don't fret yourself; it's all right, I assure you."

"You are a wonderful girl, Susan, but you can't make wrong right. As Star has the bill and nothing will induce her to give it up, I don't see where we are. It seems to me it would be better to tell her than for the whole school to know. She could not be too spiteful or too much of a traitor to her own cause."

"She's a horrid girl and I hate her," said Susan. "She's just the sort that makes more mischief than anybody else. She's neither bad nor good; she's lukewarm. And you know what the Bible says about lukewarm people. I hate her, and I'm not ashamed to say so."

"Of course, I must be guided by you, Susan; but I do trust you not to get me into a scrape."

"I will do what I can; you have no cause to be the least alarmed," said Susan. "Ah! here comes Janet. She hasn't half nor quarter your spunk, Maud, as a rule, but really she looks more calm and collected to-night."

Janet ran up quickly. "The others are coming," she said. "I wonder what is going to happen. I can't help feeling awfully troubled."

"I think the whole thing most horrible," said Maud.

Susan pinched her arm. Just then Star and Christian appeared. Star was holding Christian by the arm. The girls walked slowly forward.

"There is no hurry," said Star; "it will soon be over."

"I wish I was dead," said Christian in a moaning voice.

"Oh, don't be silly!" said Star. "You will soon see for yourself what a jolly time we shall have together. Now then, here they are."

Star walked up to Susan.

"Well, Susan," she said, "the time is up; what do you mean to do?"

Susan gave a slow smile. Her smiles were some of the most aggravating things about her. She always smiled when others stormed.

"Be quick," said Star; "I am in a hurry. I have got to see Miss Peacock before eight o'clock."

"But suppose you don't want to see her at all?" suddenly said Maud.

"I hope I may not have to see her, Maud; I would much rather not. Now, Christian, my dear, good, frightened child, just stand near me, and don't shake so terribly from head to foot. I can't get the mystery out of Christian, Susan, so I have come to you. You know her secret. Most likely it is all nonsense; but anyhow she has confided it to you."

"I did not," suddenly interrupted Christian.

"Then how did you get hold of it, Susan?"

Again Susan smiled, and again she was absolutely silent.

"Oh, bother!" said Star; "we needn't inquire now into the why and wherefore of your knowledge. All we have got to discover—and to discover pretty quickly, too—is what your power over Christian consists of. Why is she afraid of you? Why has she, who is naturally amiable and good and honorable, deliberately turned round and become dishonorable and treacherous? I must say it, Christian, for it is the truth. She is afraid, and I want to get to the bottom of it. You force her to disobey the rules of the school. Why, a girl could be expelled for what you made Christian do. You made her break one of the strictest rules when you ordered her to go out and buy those things for the feast that ought never to be held."

"I like that!" cried Susan. "It doesn't sound well for you to talk, you who have enjoyed those tarts and cheese-cakes and jolly things in our attic."

"It's quite true. I have enjoyed them; but I always made up my mind that if Miss Peacock spoke to me about it I would tell her frankly. I know Miss Peacock has an inkling that we enjoy ourselves occasionally in that fashion. I know also that Jessie is aware of it. But I have never done anything really underhand. I have never bought tarts and cheese-cakes outside. When I gave a feast the things were sent to me from home. Miss Peacock doesn't object to my having hampers from home twice every term; and as the cakes and sweetmeats are always sent in tin boxes, they last a long time. But that is not the point. The point is this: why is Christian Mitford afraid of you—so much afraid of you that she does wrong because you tell her to? It isn't her wish to do wrong. It is contrary—altogether contrary—to her nature. Why, too, should she spend her money? Hitherto, when we gave feasts in our attic, we subscribed, each of us according to our means. Why should Christian spend her money on food for the rest of you?"

"You can ask her," said Susan. "She can tell you exactly what she likes. Speak, Christian; we are all ready to listen. Tell all about that night—that wonderful night; tell all about Rosy; tell about——"

"Don't!" said Christian in a voice of agony.

"You see for yourself she doesn't want you to know, Star. She would infinitely prefer your being left in ignorance. Much as you think of her, honorable as you esteem her, compared to your humble servant, she has done something which Maud and Janet and I would scorn to do. I have not told Maud, and I have not told Janet. I have been singularly merciful to Christian, and she knows it. Now, I wanted a little money for this special feast, and she was kind enough to offer to lend it to me. And as to the thing you accuse her of—namely, having got the cakes and things from Dawson's in the High Street—I ask you what proof you have?"

"Proof!" cried Star. "How extraordinary you are! I can show it; and I will, too. This kind of thing must not go on. I won't be a party to it."

"Very well," replied Susan; "you must please yourself. The bill is the thing that condemns, is it not?"

"Yes; it proves the truth of my words."

"Where is it? I should like to see it."

"In my purse; you know that. You saw me put it there last night. I have not touched it since."

"Very well," said Susan; "I think that is all. Now, I have a statement to make. I refuse to betray poor Christian. She did some very wrong and shameful things, but I am not going to tell. I am a good friend, although some people don't think so. Cheer up, Chris. Do your worst, Star; do your very worst."

There was a mocking tone in Susan's voice, and a look of defiance all over her. She held herself very erect; her large face was flushed, and her eyes looked calm as well as daring.

"I wish you luck, Star; I wish you luck," she said.

Star put her hand into her pocket and took out her purse.

"I said I would do it, and I will," she said. "It is horrible beyond words, but I must do what I said. I shall take it with me and go. I said I'd go. It is all hateful. I could cry about the whole thing; but it is the only way to save Christian."

"A nice way of saving her!" said Susan. "You talk about saving her and you get her into a most terrible row."

"I would rather do that than have her any longer in your power," said Star.

As she spoke she bent her little head and looked into the purse. Her curly hair fell forward over her eyes; she pushed it back impatiently.

"It is dark," she said, "but I ought to see it. I don't see it. Where can it be?"

Susan had partly turned away.

"Where is what?" she asked, and she returned again to her post close to Star's side.

"Why, the bill—the bill from Dawson's. I put it into this division last night. Where is it?"

"How can I say?" replied Susan. "I don't keep your purse. I saw you put it in and have neither seen it nor heard of it since."

Star's face turned very white. She looked full at Christian.

"Do you know, Christian?" she said.

"Certainly not," said Christian. "Alice gave me your purse when I was sitting in the library by the fire. She threw it into my lap. I had a headache and fell asleep. It lay in my lap when I slept. I did not touch it until you came in. Then I gave it to you."

"Oh!" cried Susan, with a laugh, "I don't think that story will hold water."

She laughed loudly. Then she clutched Maud by the shoulder.

"You see, Maud, we have nothing to fear. Chris, I congratulate you; you acted with great promptitude and decision. You are one of us now. Oh, Chris, Chris! to think you were really so knowing as all that."

Christian did not at first understand; but suddenly the knowledge of Susan's cruel words burst upon her—the knowledge and what that knowledge meant. A crimson tide mounted to her face.

She turned to say a word to Star, but Star had gone.