ther treasures,
and to be regaled with cocoa and biscuits, was a privilege that raised
Marjorie to the seventh heaven of bliss. Her impulsive, warm-hearted
disposition made her apt to take up hot friendships, and for the present
she worshipped Winifrede. To be singled out for favour by the head girl
was in itself a distinction; but, apart from that, Marjorie keenly
appreciated her society. She would wait about to do any little errand
for her, would wash her brushes after the oil-painting lesson, sharpen
her pencils, set butterflies for her, mount pressed flowers, or print
out photographs. Winifrede was fond of entomology, and Marjorie,
beforetime a lukewarm naturalist, now waxed enthusiastic in the
collection of specimens. She was running one day in pursuit of a
gorgeous dragon-fly through the little wood that skirted the
playing-fields, and, with her eyes fixed on her elusive quarry, she
almost tumbled over Chrissie, who was sitting by the side of the stream.

"Hallo!" said Marjorie, drawing herself up suddenly. "I didn't see you.
As a matter of fact I wasn't looking where I was going."

"What are you doing here?" asked Chrissie.

Marjorie pointed to her butterfly-net.

"What are you doing here?" she returned.

"Reading."

Chrissie's eyes were red, and she blinked rapidly.

"You've been crying," said Marjorie tactlessly.

Her chum flushed crimson.

"I've not! I wish you'd just let me alone."

"Cheer oh! Don't get raggy, old sport!"

Chrissie turned away, and, opening her book, began to read.

"Will you come round the field with me?" asked Marjorie.

"No, thanks; I'd rather stay where I am."

"Oh, very well! I'm off. Ta-ta!"

This was not the first little tiff that had taken place between the two
girls. Chrissie seemed to have changed lately. She was moody and
self-absorbed, and ready to fire up on very slight provocation. Her
devotion to Marjorie seemed to have somewhat waned. She scarcely ever
made her presents now or wrote her notes. She was chatty enough in the
dormitory, but saw little of her in recreation hours. Marjorie set this
down to jealousy of her friendship with Winifrede. In her absorption in
her head girl she had certainly not given Chrissie so much of her time
as formerly. She walked along the field now rather soberly. She disliked
quarrelling, but her own temper was hot as well as her chum's.

"I can't help it," she groused. "Chrissie's always taking offence.
Everything I do seems to