For a moment or two I was so scared that I did not know what to do. If I tried to hide the note, I knew that she would suspect that there was something wrong, while she would have been well aware whether there was a letter for me from home, since she always had the opening of the bag. What could I do? For a moment, I was about to crumple the paper up in my hand; but fortunately I restrained myself, and holding the paper boldly in my hand, I pretended that I had been writing out the aliquot parts of a shilling; and, as I doubled the note up slowly, I went on saying,-- "Coming directly, ma'am--one farthing is one forty-eighth; one halfpenny is one twenty-some-thingth--oh, fourth. Oh, dear! oh, dear! how hard it is, to be sure." "You seem to have grown very industrious, Miss Bozerne," said Miss Furness, looking very doubtfully at the paper; and I was afraid that she would smell it, for it was quite strong of that same scent that Achille always used. "Yes, isn't she?" said Clara, coming to the rescue; "but I do not think it will last, ma'am." I could have hugged her for that; for I knew that the tiresome old thing suspected something to be wrong, and was mixing it up with the morning's adventure. But nothing more was said, and we descended to dinner, and there I was with that note burning in my pocket, and not a chance could I get to read it; for so sure as I tried to be alone, go where I would, there was that Miss Furness's favourite, Celia Blang, after me to see what I was doing. At last, during the afternoon lessons, I could bear it no longer; so I went and sat down by the side of Clara. "What does he say, dear?" I whispered. "Wants me to meet him to-night," she wrote on her slate, and rubbed it out directly. For we actually used common slates--noughts-and-crosses slates--just like charity-school children. But I had my revenge, for I dropped and cracked no less than ten of the nasty things, though I am afraid papa had to pay. And then again she wrote, "What does he say, dear?" "I have not had a chance to see yet," I dolefully replied. "There's the raging Furnace watching me, so pray don't look up. She suspects something, and I can't move without being spied." "Poor old darling!" wrote Clara on her slate. "I'm going to trust you, my dear," I said. "When I push my Nugent's Dictionary over to you, take it quietly, for my note will be inside. And I want you to take it, and go away somewhere and read it, and then come and tell me what he says; for the old thing is so suspicious, and keeps looking in my direction--and I dare not attempt it myself." So I managed to pass the note to Clara, who left the room; and then I wrote down the aliquot parts of a pound, and folded it ready so as to pull out next time. I saw Miss Furness watching me; and there I sat, with my cheeks burning, and wondering what was in my note, and whether, after all, I had done foolishly. For was Clara to be trusted?