mind my own business. All those who are acting are just full of
their costumes. They talk of nothing else."

"Is Dorothy's going to be a nice one?" asked Ruth.

"I don't know; she wouldn't tell me anything. Dorothy doesn't generally
have handsome things, does she?"

"No; she's one of the plainest-dressed girls in the Form."

"But she'll surely come out in something decent for the Masque! She
must, you know."

"Perhaps that's the rub--poor Dorothy!" murmured Grace Russell.

When Dorothy returned home that afternoon she found Miss Sherbourne busy
at her writing table. Generally all papers were cleared away before
tea-time, and Aunt Barbara was ready to help with lessons, or play games
and chat afterwards; to-day, however, she instituted a new regime.

"I am going to write in the evenings now," she said, "so you must be
quiet, dear, and not disturb me. I have a piece of work that I
particularly want to finish."

Dorothy prepared her German translation and learned her Latin
vocabularies, then, taking up a volume of Scott, began to read. It was
rather dull with only the scratching of Aunt Barbara's pen to break the
silence. She missed their usual game of chess and their pleasant talk.
It seemed so extraordinary not to be allowed to say a single word. The
next evening and the next the programme was the same. Except at meal
times, Dorothy hardly had the opportunity of exchanging ideas with Aunt
Barbara. She did not like the innovation.

"Auntie does nothing but write--write--write the whole time," she
complained to Martha.

"Yes; she's overdoing it entirely, and I've told her so!" returned
Martha indignantly. "She's at it from morning till night, and then she's
not finished, for she's sitting up to the small hours. There's no sense
in fagging like that. You can't burn a candle at both ends."

"Then why does she?" questioned Dorothy.

"That's what I asked her. She's not strong enough to stand it. She's
been ill again lately, and if she doesn't mind she'll have a breakdown."

"Auntie, won't you go to bed early too?" suggested Dorothy, as she said
good night, looking rather anxiously at the pale face bent over the
papers. Miss Sherbourne put her hand to her head wearily.

"I can't. I must make a push and put in a certain number of hours' work,
or these articles will never be finished in time. If I can send them in
by the second, and they are accepted, I may possibly get a cheque for
them at once. That would just g