en she was eighteen and help her mother
in the house, because the two elder girls wanted to be teachers. Why
couldn't she say so straight out, instead of mooning about secrets, and
battles, and mountains to be climbed? Flora sniggered into her
handkerchief, Barbara gaped, Nancy tilted her head, and rolled her eyes
to the ceiling, Dreda wakened out of her dream, and sat up flushed and
eager.

"Susan, _stop_! You mustn't! If you tell us your ideas we may copy
them without meaning to do it... If you put thoughts into our heads
they stay there and grow, and we can't send them away, but they are
_yours_. You ought to keep them to yourself."

"My dear, she says she has enough to fill a volume. She needn't grudge
a few to her starving friends," cried Nancy in would-be reproach.
"Confide in me, Susan dear! I'll sit at your feet, and gobble up all
the pearls that you drop, and perhaps in the end I may win the prize
myself. I don't see why it should be taken for granted that only two
girls have a chance. There's a lot of vulgar prejudice in this school,
but Mr Rawdon will judge with an unbiased mind. I have thought more
than once when I've been reading his books that the style was rather
like my own, and I've a sort of a--kind of a--what's the
word?--_premonition_ that he'll like me best."

There was a general laugh, but Nancy was a favourite despite her teasing
ways, so the laughter was good-tempered and sympathetic, and it was easy
to see that if by chance the prize fell to her lot the award would be a
popular one. Nancy was incurably lazy, but the conviction lingered in
the minds of her companions that "she could be clever if she chose," and
it would seem quite in character that she should suddenly wake up to the
surprise and confusion of her competitors. Dreda looked round with an
anxious air, as if recognising a new, and formidable competitor. She
determined to begin making notes that very evening, and asked suddenly:

"Has anyone seen my stylo? My things seem to be bewitched nowadays.
They are always disappearing. I searched for my French book for a solid
hour yesterday, and this morning it was my penknife, and now it's the
pen--I waste half my time hunting and searching."

"You are so untidy. If you would be more methodical--"

"I didn't ask for moral reflections, Barbara. I asked for my pen."

"Is it a black one? A little stumpy black one--about so long?"

"Yes--yes! That's it. Have you seen i