So many questions were hurled at her head that Lesbia did not attempt to answer them in detail. She replied, a little shamefacedly, that her plans had been suddenly changed, and that she was now living with cousins in Kingfield. She realized, from the girls' faces, that her return was considered rather tame. She even wondered whether she ought to keep the good-bye present which they had made her. It was certainly hers by false pretences. Yet it would be hardly possible to give it back. "There'll be a scrimmage with Laura Birkshaw!" remarked Etta Pearson. "She's been going on with your stencilling. And a nice smudge she's made of it too, in places." "Aldora Dodson's got your desk by the window," piped Calla Wilkins; "I don't believe she'll turn out for anybody." "I shan't ask her to," said Lesbia briefly, as she walked upstairs. Her pride prevented her from satisfying her schoolfellows' freely expressed curiosity, and, after a little teasing, they let her alone. They gathered enough from Marion to understand the main outline of the situation, and simply accepted the fact of her return to school. Between Marion and Lesbia there was a species of embarrassment. Marion could not help knowing that it was largely owing to her well meant but very foolishly expressed sympathy that her friend had performed such a madcap act. She remembered that in an impulsive moment she had even suggested Lesbia living at her home, an offer which her mother had certainly not endorsed. She felt sorry for her friend, but the sense that she had failed in her crucial test made her shy. Lesbia, with a memory of Mrs. Morwood's blank dismay at her arrival, and the relief with which she had turned her over to the Pattersons, realized what a "_faux pas_" she had committed, and burned with shame to have thus trespassed upon her hospitality. By an unspoken but mutual understanding the two girls simply buried the past and did not refer either to Lesbia's late experiences or to her future prospects. They confined their conversation strictly to school matters. There was plenty to be said, for it was the most exciting part of the term. The girls were getting ready for their great Christmas entertainment, to which parents and friends would be invited. Every day some of them stayed after school to rehearse. The orchestra, which had advanced from scraping to quite tuneful melody, played in the gymnasium each morning from 8.25 to 8.55, a very creditable record, considering it was voluntary work, and necessitated a start from home at an early hour. "I have to walk, because there isn't a tram from Felsham between the workmen's cars at six, and the half-past eight car," proclaimed Aldora Dodson, rubbing her blue fingers to restore the circulation. "I call it pretty stiff to tramp two miles to a rehearsal!" "Poor old sport," sympathized Kathleen. "Why don't you bike it?"