I was conscious of two flaming cheeks as we walked for a moment in silence, and I glanced at Elizabeth out of the tail of my eye to see if she were summing up my case. It wasn't true, it couldn't be true, that extravagant partialities (when they were _my_ partialities) were short-lived. I was preparing to combat this part of the accusation when Elizabeth's cool voice dispelled my groundless fears. "I think that's silly," she said. "Nobody is like that." The suddenness of my relief made me laugh outright, and then,--Oh, baseness of the human heart!--I sought to strengthen my own position by denouncing some one else. "Not Annie Churchill?" I asked. Elizabeth considered. "No, not even Annie Churchill. What makes you think of her?" It was an awkward question. How could I say that two nights before the retreat, Annie had slipped into my alcove,--a reprehensible habit she had,--and, with an air of mystery, had informed me she was "trying to do something,"--she didn't like to tell me what, because she thought that maybe I was trying to do it, too. Upon my intimating that I was trying to go to bed, and nothing else that I knew of, she had said quite solemnly: "I am trying to gain Elizabeth's affections." As it was impossible for me to adduce this piece of evidence (even an unsought confidence we held sacred), I observed somewhat lamely: "Oh, she does seem to get suddenly fond of people." "Who's she fond of?" asked the unsuspecting--and ungrammatical--Elizabeth. "Oh, do go on!" I urged, and, even as I said it, the Benediction bell rang. A score of girls, serious, black-veiled young penitents, appeared, as if by magic, hastening to the chapel. We joined them silently, and filed into rank. Already my conscience was pricking. Had our "serious" conversation been either charitable or edifying? Was it for this that Madame Rayburn had sent us out to walk under the mulberry trees? It pricked harder still--this sore little conscience--the next day, when Lilly came to me, looking downcast and miserable. "Madame Duncan said I might speak to you," she whispered, "because it was about something important. It _is_ important, very. Father Santarius is sure to tell us we must put those straws back, and I've broken one of mine."