misunderstandings."

Raymonde glanced at her admiringly. With those blue eyes and fluffy
curls it all seemed so possible. She felt that she should look forward
to her chum's inevitable engagement almost as much as Fauvette
herself. It would be as good as a Shakespeare play, or one of the best
pieces on the kinema. But these rosy prospects were still in the dim
and distant future; the present was entirely prosaic and unromantic.
Whatever punting excursions Fauvette might enjoy in years to come,
this particular water party would be quite unsentimental, conducted
under the watchful eyes of Miss Beasley and Miss Gibbs, with boatmen
well over military age to do the rowing. For the first time for four
years the Principal's birthday morning was gloriously fine. The pupils
placed the usual bouquet of flowers opposite her seat at the breakfast
table, together with a handsomely bound volume of Ruskin's _Stones of
Venice_. She thanked them with her customary surprise and gratitude,
and assured them, as she did annually, what a pleasure it was to her
to receive so kind a token of their esteem.

This preliminary business being over, breakfast and classes proceeded
as usual, a more than ordinary atmosphere of decorum pervading the
establishment, for Miss Gibbs had announced that the afternoon's
excursion depended upon the mark-book, and the girls knew that she
would keep her word. The veriest slackers paid attention to lessons
that morning, and even Raymonde for once did not receive an order
mark.

Lunch was served early, and directly the meal was finished all the
girls flew upstairs to change their attire. During hot weather the
school was not kept strictly to the brown serge uniform, and the girls
blossomed out into linen costumes, or white drill skirts and muslin
blouses. For the credit of the Grange they made careful toilettes that
afternoon; Fauvette in particular looked ravishingly pretty in a
pale-blue sailor suit with a white collar and silk tie. She made quite
a sensation as she came down the stairs.

The mistresses had also turned out suitably dressed for the occasion:
Miss Beasley was dignified and matronly in blue voile with a motor
veil; Miss Gibbs, who intended to row, was in practical blouse and
short skirt; while Mademoiselle was a dream of white muslin, chiffon
ruffles, and pink parasol.

It was about half an hour's walk to the river, down shady lanes and
across lately cleared hayfields. There was a little land