A SLIGHT MISTAKE “I don’t ask you for more than a guinea,” said Mrs. Hilary, with a parade of forbearance. “It would be the same,” I replied politely, “if you asked me for a thousand;” with which I handed her half-a-crown. She held it in her open hand, regarding it scornfully. “Yes,” I continued, taking a seat, “I feel that pecuniary gifts--” “Half-a-crown!” “Are you a poor substitute for personal service. May not I accompany you to the ceremony?” “I dare say you spent as much as this on wine with your lunch!” “I was in a mad mood today,” I answered apologetically. “What are they taught at the school?” “Above all, to be good girls,” said Mrs. Hilary earnestly. “What are you sneering at, Mr. Carter?” “Nothing,” said I hastily, and I added with a sigh, “I suppose it’s all right.” “I should like,” said Mrs. Hilary meditatively, “if I had not other duties, to dedicate my life to the service of girls.” “I should think twice about that, if I were you,” said I, shaking my head. “By the way, Mr. Carter, I don’t know if I’ve ever spoken unkindly of Lady Mickleham. I hope not.” “Hope,” said I, “is not yet taxed.” “If I have, I’m very sorry. She’s been most kind in undertaking to give away the prizes today. There must be some good in her.” “Oh, don’t be hasty,” I implored. “I always wanted to think well of her.” “Ah! Now I never did.” “And Lord Mickleham is coming, too. He’ll be most useful.” “That settles it,” I exclaimed. “I may not be an earl, but I have a perfect right to be useful. I’ll go too.” “I wonder if you’ll behave properly,” said Mrs. Hilary doubtfully. I held out a half-sovereign, three half-crowns, and a shilling. “Oh, well, you may come, since Hilary can’t,” said Mrs. Hilary. “You mean he won’t,” I observed. “He has always been prevented hitherto,” said she, with dignity. So I went, and it proved a most agreeable expedition. There were 200 girls in blue frocks and white aprons (the girl three from the end of the fifth row was decidedly pretty)--a nice lot of prize books--the Micklehams (Dolly in demure black), ourselves, and the matron. All went well. Dolly gave away the prizes; Mrs. Hilary and Archie made little speeches. Then the matron came to me. I was sitting modestly at the back of the platform, a little distance behind the others. “Mr. Musgrave,” said the matron to me, “we’re so glad to see you here at last. Won’t you say a few words?” “It would be a privilege,” I responded cordially, “but unhappily I have a sore throat.” The matron (who was a most respectable woman) said, “Dear, dear!” but did not press the point. Evidently, however, she liked me, for when we went to have a cup of tea, she got me in a corner and began to tell me all about the work. It was extremely interesting. Then the matron observed: “And what an angel Mrs. Musgrave is!” “Well, I should hardly call her that,” said I, with a smile.