us, sparkling Gallic champagne mingling with the
Dopper in her dainty blue veins. Nothing could be prettier than Greta in a
good temper, unless it might be Greta in a rage. She was in a good temper
now, as, tossing back her superb golden hair plait, as thick as a child's
arm, and nearly four feet long, she drew a smeary envelope from the front
of her black alpaca school-dress, and, delicately withdrawing the epistle
enclosed, yielded the envelope for the inspection of the Red Class.

"What niggly writing!" objected Nellie Bliecker, wrinkling her snub nose
in the disgust that masks the gnawing tooth of envy.

"And the envelope is all over sticky brown," said another carping critic.

"That's because _he_ put the letter inside the chocolate-box," explained
Greta, "instead of outside. And the best chocolates--the expensive
ones--always go squashy. Only the cheap ones don't melt--because they have
got stuff like chalk inside. But wait till I show you as much as the
envelope of my next letter--that's all, Julia K. Shaw!"

Julia K. wilted. Greta proceeded:

"It's directed 'To My Fair Addored One,' because, of course, he didn't
know my name. I don't object to his putting a d too much in adored; I
rather prefer it. His own name is simple, and rather pretty." She made
haste to say that, because she felt doubtful about it. "Billy Keyse."

"_Billy?_"

"Billy Keyse?"

"B-i-l-l-y K-e-y-s-e!"

The name went the round of the Red Class. Nobody liked it.

"He must, of course, have been christened William. Shakespeare was a
William. The Emperor of Germany," stated Greta loftily, "is a William.
Mr. Pitt and Mr. Gladstone were both Williams. Many other great men have
been Williams."

"But not Billies," said Christine Silber, provoking a giggle from the
greedily-listening White Class.

Greta scorched them into silence with a look, and continued:

"He is by profession a surveyor, not exactly a partner in the firm of Gadd
and Saxby, on Market Square, but something very near it." (Do you who read
see W. Keyse carrying the chain and spirit-level, and sweeping out the
office when the Kaffir boy forgets?). "He saw me walking in the Stad with
the Centipede," Greta added.

This was a fanciful name for the whole school of eighty pupils promenading
upon its hundred and sixty legs of various nationalities in search of
exercise and fresh air.

"Go on!" said the Red Class in a breath, as the White Class giggled and
nudged each other, an