"Observation, my dear. If you could look inside her desk, you wouldn't find it full of classical authors; there'd be novels and beauty recipes instead." "She keeps it locked, at any rate." "Wise of her, too. If we could only open it now! Hallo! She's actually forgotten to lock it to-day! What a joke! Let us see what she's got here!" "Particularly honourable for a warden!" came a voice from the other end of the room. Hope turned round angrily. "Indeed, Madam Sanctimonious! So you've grown a prig all of a sudden? Who asked Saint Dorothy to interfere?" "Go on, Hope," said Blanche; "we're not goody-goody." "Well, I mean to have a look, at any rate. There! Didn't I tell you? The first thing I find is a novel. What a heap of papers! I believe she must keep her love letters here. Oh, girls, I say, here's a portrait of a gentleman!" Blanche, Irene, and Valentine came crowding round, all sense of honour lost in their curiosity. "Oh, what a supreme joke!" they exclaimed. Now the back desks of the classroom were raised on a platform, and in the corner where Dorothy sat there was a tiny window that served the purpose of lighting the passage. From her place Dorothy that moment caught a vision--no less a person than Miss Pitman herself was walking down the corridor. Should she give a warning "Cave!" and let the others know? She was not sure whether they deserved it. "Look here, you wouldn't be doing this if Miss Pitman could see you!" she remonstrated. "Why don't you stuff those things back and shut up the desk?" "Shut up yourself, Dorothy Greenfield, and mind your own business!" "On your heads be it, then," muttered Dorothy. "I tried to save you, but here comes swift vengeance!" At that moment through the open door walked Miss Pitman. She stopped short and surveyed the scene through her pince-nez. There was her portrait on the blackboard--not at all a flattering one, especially with the inscription issuing from her mouth, but quite unmistakably meant to represent her, for her name was written above. At her open desk were her four favourite pupils, giggling over the photograph which Hope held aloft. It was a disillusionment for any teacher, and Miss Pitman's mouth twitched. "What are you doing at my desk?" she asked sharply. No girls were ever so hopelessly caught. Hope remained with the photograph in her hand, staring speechlessly; Blanche tried to shuffle away, Valentine looked sulky, and Irene--always ready for tears--pulled out her pocket-handkerchief. "Who has drawn this picture on the blackboard?" continued Miss Pitman. "Hope--Hope did it! It wasn't any of us!" snivelled Irene, trying to thrust the brunt of the affair on to her friend's shoulders. Miss Pitman gave Hope a scathing glance, under which the girl quailed. "An extremely clever way of showing her talent for drawing, no doubt," remarked the mistress sarcastically. "I shall be obliged if someone will clean the board."