so well," Ingred assured her hastily, for Verity had gone
very pink, and her voice sounded distinctly offended. "I thought the way
you dropped on one knee and cried: 'My liege lord! I am your humble
socman!' was most impressive. What made you think of 'socman'?"

"Got it out of the history book," said Verity, slightly mollified. "It
means a man who owned land, but wasn't quite as high up as a thane. I
meant to bring in some more Saxon words, but I hadn't time."

"You must win the dormitory score again, and give us another
performance," urged Mrs. Best. "I'm afraid it's too late for any more
to-night, though we're all sorry to stop. Those juniors ought to be in
bed. Janie and Doreen, if you'd like a quiet half-hour to finish your
prep. you may go into my room. Somebody put the tables back, please, and
be sure the trestles are in their right places this time, we don't want
another collapse! Phyllis, your cough's worse. Nurse shall rub your
chest with camphorated oil, and you mustn't kiss anybody. Betty too?
I'll give you a lozenge, but don't suck it lying down in bed, in case
you choke."

So saying, Mrs. Best, who generally mothered the hostel, dismissed her
large family and bustled away with Nurse to superintend the putting to
bed of the juniors and the due care of those who might be regarded as
even ever so slightly on the sick list. It was perhaps owing to the
excitement of their spirited performance that the members of No. 2
Dormitory could not get to sleep that night. They all lay wide awake in
bed, and told each other tales about burglars, in whispers. Verity's
stories were blood-curdling in the extreme; she was a great reader, and
had got them from magazines. Her three room-mates listened with cold
shivers running down their spines. According to Verity's accounts it was
a common and every day occurrence for a house-breaker to force an
entrance, murder the occupants, and depart, leaving a case to baffle the
police until some amateur detective turned up and solved the mystery.

"Has it ever struck you that the hostel would be a very easy place to
burgle?" asked Fil. "Those French windows have no shutters, and the
glass could be cut with a diamond."

"Or the doors could be opened with a skeleton key!" quavered Nora.

"I suppose they generally wear goloshes, so as to tread softly,"
ventured Ingred.

"Wouldn't it be dreadful," continued Verity, whose mind still ran on
magazine stories, "to marry a fascinating man