It being Saturday evening, there was no preparation. Relays of girls were having their hair washed in the bathroom, and others were finishing stocking darning, or various pieces of mending; tidying their drawers, putting out their clean clothes, and performing the many small duties that seemed to accumulate at the end of the week. The Lower School recreation room happened to be temporarily deserted by its usual rollicking crew, and Mabel was there alone, standing warming her hands at the fire. She looked up brightly as Aldred entered. "Come along!" she said. "Isn't this a glorious blaze? We've got the room all to ourselves for once, and we'll have such a cosy chat! Why! what's this you're giving me? A letter? From whom?" "From me. It's something I want you to know," replied Aldred shortly; and she would have turned to leave the room had not Mabel caught her by the arm and forced her back to the fire. "Don't run away!" she exclaimed. "You're the most absurd girl! What are you writing to me about?" "You'll find out when you've read it," gulped Aldred. "But why couldn't you tell me? What's the matter? You're actually crying! Dearest, have I done anything to offend you?" "No, no! Do let me go, and then open the letter!" "I shan't. You must stay here till I know why you are crying. Has anybody been nasty to you?" "No; it's I who have done something wrong--I wanted to let you know--I'm afraid you'll never care for me afterwards--I daren't tell you--so please read it, and don't keep me now!" Mabel looked puzzled, then suddenly enlightened; but instead of loosening her hold on her friend, she pulled her down on to the hearth-rug, before the fire. "I understand!" she said. "Oh, Aldred, dear, I know all about that, you know!" Aldred's face was a study. "Yes, Agnes Maxwell told me before tea." "What has Agnes to do with it?" "Why, she heard you! She said all the others who had spoken English had reported themselves to Miss Bardsley, but she was sure you hadn't." Aldred drew a long breath. It was quite a different crime that Mabel imagined she was confessing, a little slip that she scarcely recollected, and certainly had not intended to rake up. She had been guilty of expressing herself in her own language during the time set apart for French conversation that morning, but, having no desire to lose a mark, she had discreetly allowed her memory to fail her when the mistress asked if any girl had "communicated in English". "I must say I was very astonished," continued Mabel, "and very disappointed that you, of all people, should not have told; it seemed so entirely different from what you are. I couldn't believe that you would go a whole afternoon letting 'perfect' be down in the register, when you ought to have had a bad mark. Of course, I knew you would tell before Monday--luckily, Saturday's marks count for next week."