Girls -- England -- Juvenile fiction; High schools -- England -- Juvenile fiction
Truly Lesbia was in no favour at head-quarters. She found it most
difficult to combine teaching with her work in the Sixth Form, and to do
both well. If she spent a long time getting up the geography lesson
which she must give to IIB, her own preparation suffered. It was hard to
be counted a slacker, and she longed to justify herself. Twelve years'
experience at school had taught her, however, that the one unpardonable
sin is to "answer back" when scolded, so she curbed her tongue, and
listened with lowered eyelids while Miss Ormerod talked to her on the
poor standard of her weekly exercises and essays, and the necessity of
making greater efforts at self-improvement.
I have mentioned that the prefects at the High School had the special
privilege of using the quaint little room built over the archway which
spanned the road. Lesbia in particular regarded it as a harbour of
refuge. She was now a daily boarder, and when one o'clock dinner was
over she would often retire to this sanctum to read or do preparation
before afternoon classes. At that hour she generally had it alone, and
it seemed almost as good as a private study. One day, late in March, she
walked briskly upstairs with her water-colour box. She wanted to
illuminate a book back for Ermie's birthday, she could not venture to
paint it in the studio, because her chum might come in and see it, and
there was practically no time available after she went home in the
afternoons. The gate room, though rather dark, would be absolutely
secluded, with no fear of Ermie suddenly peeping over her shoulder and
asking: "What are you doing, old sport?"
Lesbia hurried along the upper corridor, her mind full of the design
which she meant to paint, so preoccupied, indeed, that she never saw a
suspicious movement of the book-cupboard door as she passed, or heard
suppressed giggles inside. She just walked on, utterly oblivious, went
into the gate room, and, for better security, bolted herself in. The
latticed window overlooking the street was open, and she noticed vaguely
that the floor underneath it was wet, as though with rain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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