t,
and, posing picturesquely, glanced with would-be carelessness up and
down the back lane, and coughed.

At this very evident signal a figure emerged from the shelter of the
opposite bushes and strode to the gate. The juniors gasped. They had
all taken part in last Christmas's term-end performance, and they
easily recognized the hat, long coat, and military moustache of the
school theatrical wardrobe, the only masculine garments permitted at
the Grange. Cynthia, being a new-comer, was not acquainted with them.
Her agitated eyes merely took in a manly vision who was accosting her
politely, though without removing his hat.

"Have I the pleasure of addressing Miss Cynthia Greene?" asked a
deep-toned voice.

Cynthia, utterly overcome, giggled a faint assent.

"I am Algernon Augustus. Delighted to make your acquaintance! You're
the very girl I've always longed to meet. I can't describe my
loneliness, and how I'm yearning for sympathy. Fairest, loveliest one,
will you smile upon me?"

What Cynthia might have answered it is impossible to guess, but at
that critical moment the hat, which was several sizes too large,
tilted to one side, and allowed Raymonde's hair to escape down her
back. Cynthia's agitated shriek brought a crowd of witnesses from out
the laurel bushes. They did not spare their victim, and a perfect
storm of chaff descended upon her.

"Did it go to meet its ownest own?"

"Did you call him Algernon, or Augustus?"

"Did he tell you his family pedigree?"

"Where's his motor-car, please?"

"Is the engagement announced yet?"

"I think you're a set of beasts!" whimpered Cynthia, leaning her head
against the gate and sobbing.

"If you hadn't been such a silly idiot you wouldn't have been taken in
by such a transparent business," returned Raymonde, pulling off her
moustache. "Look here, we don't care about this sickly sort of stuff,
so the sooner you drop it the better. Gracious, girl! Turn off the
waterworks! Be thankful Gibbie didn't scent out your romance, that's
all! If the Bumble knew you'd put that card inside that strawberry
basket, she'd pack up your boxes and send you home by the next train.
Crystal clear, she would!"

For at least a week after this, Cynthia Greene suffered a chastened
life, and shed enough tears to make her pocket-handkerchiefs a
conspicuous item in her laundry bag. She began to wish that the names
of Augustus and Algernon could be expunged from the English language.
Her Fo