nd who could go with us to Italy in the autumn. Oh, how
splendid it will be when I can bring her back absolutely strong and
well! I can hardly feel thankful enough. And it is all owing to you,"
she added, kissing Lindsay and Cicely with tears in her eyes.

It had come at length to the very end of the term; the girls were making
up their minds to bid a reluctant good-bye to the beautiful old house
where they had spent such a pleasant and eventful twelve weeks.

"If we weren't going home, I couldn't bear to leave it," said Cicely.
"I've grown so fond of everything. Our dear bedroom, with its big
four-poster (I love those yellow brocaded curtains), and the roses round
the window that smell so delicious first thing when one wakes in the
morning, and the dining-hall, and the picture gallery, and the library,
and the oak parlour where we have lessons, and, above all, the garden.
Oh dear, it makes me quite sad to think perhaps I may never see them
again! What a change to settle down at Winterburn Lodge in September!"

"I suppose life can't be all honey; we shall have to go back to plain
bread and butter now," replied Lindsay philosophically. "But I'll tell
you a secret to cheer you up. Monica says her mother has promised that
when they return from Italy she'll ask you and me to spend part of the
summer holidays at the Manor. But she doesn't wish us to let any of the
other girls know of the invitation just at present."

"How perfectly delightful!" exclaimed Cicely, with shining eyes.

"It's a whole year off yet."

"I don't mind, so long as I can think of coming here again some time,
and being Monica's visitor. It's something to look forward to."

The last day arrived, as last days invariably do, whether one is longing
for their advent or the reverse. Boxes had been brought down and packed,
and Miss Russell's linen and silver had been collected and stowed away
in great wicker baskets, which were already dispatched on their road to
London. The girls, marshalled in order on the drive, were only waiting
for the word "March!" to start for the railway station.

Monica stood on the steps to see them off, her pretty, fair face and
rich chestnut hair framed in the oak doorway.

"I shall miss you all dreadfully," she said. "It has been a great
pleasure for me to have you here. Please don't forget me."

"We're not likely to do that," replied Mildred Roper, speaking for
herself and the rest. "We've spent a glorious three months. I