Marjorie obeyed almost mechanically. She knelt on the rug and spread out her hands to the blaze. She had reached a point of misery when she hardly cared what happened next to her. Two big tears splashed into the fender. Miss Duckworth suddenly put an arm round her. "I'm sorry you're in trouble, Marjorie. Can't you tell me why you did such a thing? It's so unlike you that I don't understand." Then somehow Marjorie found herself blurting out the entire story to her form mistress. How she had found the soldier's address at her aunt's, and had written to him in a spirit of sheer patriotism. Incidentally, and in reply to questioning, the aims and objects of the S.S.O.P. were divulged. Miss Duckworth could hardly forbear a smile; the real circumstances were so utterly different from what they appeared in the Principal's eyes. "You've been a very silly child," she said; "so silly that I think you richly deserved to get yourself into a scrape. I'll explain the matter to Mrs. Morrison." "I'd like her to know, even though I'm to be expelled," groaned Marjorie. On hearing Miss Duckworth's version of the story, however, Mrs. Morrison reconsidered her decision, sent for the culprit, lectured her, and solemnly forgave her. She further summoned all the members of the S.S.O.P. to present themselves in her study. In view of the recent occurrence they came trembling, and stood in a downcast line while she addressed them. "I hear from Miss Duckworth," she said, "that you have founded a secret society among yourselves for the purpose of encouraging patriotism. I do not in general approve of secret societies, but I sympathize with your object. It is the duty of every citizen of our Empire to be patriotic. There are various ways, however, in which we can show our love for our country. Let us be sure that they are wise and discreet ways before we adopt them. Some forms of kindness may be excellent when administered by grown-up and experienced women, but are not suitable for schoolgirls. If you want to help the soldiers you may sew bed-jackets. I have just received a new consignment of flannel, and will ask Sister Johnstone to cut some out for you to-morrow." The S.S.O.P. retired somewhat crestfallen. "I hate sewing!" mourned Betty. "So do I," confessed Sylvia. "But we'll all just have to slave away at those bed-jackets if we want to square the Empress. It must come out of our spare time, too, worse luck!" Marjorie entered St. Elgiva's in a half-dazed condition. A hurricane seemed to have descended that morning, whirled her almost to destruction, then blown itself away, and left her decidedly battered by the storm. Up in her own cubicle she indulged in the luxury of a thorough good cry. The S.S.O.P. in a body rose up to comfort her, but, like Jacob of old, she refused comfort.