Her face was ghastly pale, and she looked as though she had
been crying very hard. Alice Tennant was also in her class, and she
looked very bold and upright and defiant. Nothing ever induced Alice to
neglect her studies, for did not the scholarship depend on her doing her
very utmost? She worked just as assiduously as though nothing was
happening. But each foundation girl--at least each who had joined the
Wild Irish Girls--pressed her hand against the front of her dress, so as
really to be certain that the little locket, the dear little talisman of
her order, was safe in its place; and each girl felt naughty and good at
the same time, anxious to please Kathleen and anxious to adhere to the
rules of the school, and each girl resolved that, if she had to choose
between the school and Kathleen, she would throw the school over and
give allegiance to the queen of the society.

But Ruth's unhappy face certainly attracted attention. Cassandra Weldon
noticed it first of all. In recess she went up to her and took her hand.

"Ruth," she said, "you must come home with, me to dinner. Afterwards we
can have a good chat; and then you shall have a room to yourself in
order to work up your lessons for Miss Renshaw. But what is the matter,
Ruth? You don't look well."

"I am quite well," answered Ruth; "but I don't think I'll be able to
come back with you to-day, Cassie."

"Oh, what a pity, dear! Is your grandmother ill?"

"No; she's quite well."

"And your grandfather?"

"They are both quite well. It is--no, it's not nothing, for it is
something; but I can't tell you. Please don't ask me."

"You look very sad."

"I feel miserable."

"I wonder--" said Cassandra thoughtfully.

Ruth looked at her. There was absolute despair in the eyes generally so
clear and steadfast and bright. At this moment Kathleen O'Hara was seen
passing through the playground in a sort of triumphal progress. She was
accompanied by quite a tail of girls: one hung on her right arm, another
on her left; a third danced in front of her; and other girls followed in
a thick procession.

"I feel like a queen-bee that has just swarmed," she remarked _en
passant_ to Cassandra Weldon.

Her rude words, the impertinent little toss of her head, and the defiant
glance out of her very dark-blue eyes caused Cassandra to stamp her
foot.

"Ruth," she said, "I don't like your friend Kathleen O'Hara."

"But I love her," said Ruth.

"That is just it. She makes you a