so that's flat," responded Gwen. "Netta, if you love me, if
you've any humanity in you, leave me alone. Basket-ball's off till
I've finished this."

"Well, you've got to tell me what you're doing, at any rate. Let me
look! No, Miss Modesty, you're not going to hide your light under a
bushel. I insist! Oho! What have we got here now?"

Netta dragged the book from Gwen's reluctant hands, and sitting on a
neighbouring desk, began hastily to skim through the essay, giving
grunts of approval as she read.

"First rate! I say, this is immense! Gwen, my hearty, I didn't think
you'd got it in you!"

"Will it do?" demanded Gwen anxiously. She had sat on metaphorical
pins to hear Netta's verdict.

"Do? I should rather think it would! If Lemonade doesn't mark it A1,
First Prize, I shall say she doesn't know her business, that's all!
You're pretty safe for that book of Browning, in my opinion."

"Wish it were cash instead! But I shan't get it in any case," sighed
Gwen. "If I did, I'd trade it for anything I could."

"You mercenary wretch!"

"I'm so hard up. I'm no nearer paying what I owe you, Netta. I
literally haven't a penny in my pocket I wish you'd take it in kind
instead of money."

Netta sat silent, drumming with her fingers on the desk.

"I've a rather decent locket, if you'd care for that--" continued
Gwen.

"Hush! Be quiet! You've given me an idea, Gwen Gascoyne."

"Or I've a really jolly writing case--almost new--"

"I don't want your lockets or your writing cases; I've heaps of my
own. I know one thing I do want, though, and if you like to trade, you
can."

"Done! Only name it, and it's yours with my blessing."

"Well, I want this essay--"

"My essay! What do you mean?"

Gwen snatched back her exercise book as a mother clutches her
first-born.

"I mean what I say. If you like to hand over 'Thomas Carlyle' to me,
I'll take it instead of the sov., and call us quits. It would be a new
experience to win a prize. How amazed everyone would be!"

"You surely wouldn't pass it off as your own?"

"Why not?"

"Why, Netta! That would be rather strong, even for you!"

"I told you long ago I was no saint. Besides, what's the harm? It's a
business arrangement. You offered to pay me in kind, and this happens
to be the 'pound of flesh', I fancy. It's perfectly fair."

"Um! Don't quite see the fairness myself."

"But it is!" protested Netta rather huffily. "I believe lots of
popular authors don't do all t