Betty will sow all kinds of evil seed in the school
if I don't watch her. I did wrong to promise her, by putting my finger
to my lips, that I would be silent with regard to her conduct. I see it
now. But if Betty supposes that she can keep her secret to herself she
is vastly mistaken. Hurrah, there's Sibyl Ray! Sib, come here, child; I
want to have a chat with you."

It was a bitterly cold and windy day outside; there were even
sleet-showers falling at intervals. Winter was coming on early, and with
a vengeance.

"Why have you come in?" asked Fanny.

"It's so bitterly cold out, Fanny."

"Well, sit down now you are in. You are a nice little thing, you know,
Sib, although at present you are very unimportant. You know that, of
course?"

"Yes," said Sibyl; "I am told it nearly every hour of the day." She
spoke in a wistful tone. "Sometimes," she added, "I could almost wish I
were back in the lower school, where I was looked up to by the smaller
girls and had a right good time."

"We can never go back, Sib; that is the law of life."

"Of course not."

"Well, sit down and talk to me. Now, I have something to say to you. Do
you know that I am devoured with curiosity, and all about a small girl
like yourself?"

"Oh Fanny," said Sibyl, immensely flattered, "I am glad you take an
interest in me!"

"I must be frank," said Fanny. "Up to the present I have taken no
special interest in you, except in so far as you are Martha's protege;
but when I saw you in that extraordinary dress last night I singled you
out at once as a girl with original ideas. Do look me in the face, Sib!"

Sibyl turned. Fanny's face was exquisitely chiselled. Each neat little
feature was perfect. Her eyes were large and well-shaped, her brows
delicately marked, her complexion pure lilies and roses; her hair was
thick and smooth, and yet there were little ripples about it which gave
it, even in its schoolgirl form, a look of distinction. Sibyl, on the
contrary, was an undersized girl, with the fair, colorless face,
pale-blue eyes, the lack of eyebrows and eyelashes, the hair thin and
small in quantity, which make the most hopeless type of all as regards
good looks.

"I wonder, Sib," said Fanny, "if you, you little mite, are really eaten
up with vanity?"

"I--vain! Why should you say so?"

"I only thought it from your peculiar dress last night."

Sibyl colored and spoke eagerly. "Oh, but that wasn't me at all; it was
that quite too darling B