smile of infinite triumph,
marched jauntily up the room to receive her copy of Browning's Poems.
Each girl looked at her neighbour in almost incredulous astonishment.
Netta Goodwin, of all people in the world, to have won such praise!

Gwen drew her breath hard, and clenched her fists till her nails hurt
her palms. At that moment, I am afraid, she hated Netta.

"Who was your author, Gwen? I chose Thackeray," said Louise Mawson
afterwards.

"Dickens--and I only got 'fairly creditable'," responded Gwen. "It's
just rotten!"

Which was a word utterly tabooed both at Rodenhurst and at home, but
the sole one that seemed bad enough for the occasion.

"So I hear Netta Goodwin's was the prize essay," remarked Father that
evening. "Well, we can't all of us win prizes, can we? It was a
strange coincidence that she should have written on Thomas Carlyle
too!"

"Most remarkably strange, and very unfortunate for me," admitted Gwen,
drinking her cup of bitterness to the dregs.

CHAPTER XII

Gwen turns Henwife

To Gwen the spring term seemed to pass much more rapidly than the
autumn one had done. She was growing used to the Fifth Form; and the
work, though certainly not easy, was now, thanks to the extra coaching
that she had received, well within her compass. She did not feel so
terribly harassed over her preparation, and instead of, as formerly,
spending the whole evening until bedtime at her books, she was able to
spare a chance hour or two occasionally for other things. The change
of thoughts and the extra interests did her good; she lost her worried
expression, and though she still could not help wrinkling up her
forehead when trying to answer a question, some of her other bad
habits began to drop away. Beatrice had not to correct her nearly so
often, consequently there was less fridging of tempers between the two
sisters, and a great increase of calm in the home atmosphere. It was a
matter of tacit understanding at the Parsonage that Gwen raised most
of the household storms. Winnie and Lesbia had peace-loving
dispositions, and jogged along very evenly; and the boys, though apt
to be mischievous, were always good-humoured little fellows, not much
given to quarrelling unless they were teased. At present such a
blessed tranquillity reigned at the breakfast and tea-tables that
Beatrice really began to hope that the family volcano was quieting
down, and that her eruptions and explosions would be things of the
past