"We didn't have dancing last Friday," objected Mavis. "No, because Miss Crompton hadn't come back. We shall have it every Friday now." "Where? In the playroom?" Nesta laughed. "Oh no! We don't have it at school. There's no room big enough. We go to Miss Crompton's class in the public hall." "Well, look here! What are we to do?" asked Mavis. "We can't turn up as we are? Shall we run home and change into 'war paint'?" "I don't know. You'd better ask Miss Pollard. Oh, here she is! Miss Pollard, please! Mavis and Merle didn't know it was dancing afternoon." "How very annoying! I told Opal to remind you," said the mistress, turning to the aggrieved pair almost as if it were their own fault. "Go home to change? Oh no! There isn't time now. You must all come along at once or we shall be late. It's a tiresome mistake but it can't be helped and you mustn't miss the lesson. You'll know better next week." "Might we _tear_ home and change, and run on to the public hall?" begged Mavis desperately. "No, no! You must all come together. Never mind. I'll explain to Miss Crompton, and it will be quite all right." It was all very well for Miss Pollard to say "Never mind" in so easy a fashion. Mavis and Merle were furious. They possessed dainty dresses, thin stockings, and dancing slippers in their wardrobe at Bridge House, and when the whole school was arrayed _en fete_ it was most humiliating to be marched off in their brown knitted jerseys, ribbed stockings, and ordinary serviceable shoes. They both looked daggers at Opal, who just then put in an appearance very prettily got up in a white _crepe de Chine_ dress and a big, pale-pink hair-ribbon. She started guiltily when she saw them. "Oh, I forgot to tell you two about the dancing. It simply went out of my head," she exclaimed. "Then your head's as empty as a brass nob," exploded Merle. "It was just _criminal_ of you to forget. I believe you did it on purpose."