"Thank you, mamma. That is just what Miss Jackson herself said yesterday afternoon. I paid her out for it. I sent her away with Baby Ferraday's kite fastened to her shawl behind." "What?" exclaimed Mrs. Beauclerc. "The kite was small, not bigger than my hand, but the tail was fine," continued the imperturbable Georgina. "You cannot imagine how grand the effect was as she walked along the grounds, and the wind took the tail and fluttered it. The college boys happened to come out of school at the moment; and they followed her, shouting out 'kites for sale; tails to sell.' Miss Jackson couldn't think what was the matter, and kept turning round. She'd have had it on till now, I hope, only Fred St. John went and tore it off." Mrs. Beauclerc had listened in speechless amazement. When Georgina talked on in this rapid way, telling of her exploits--and to do the young lady justice, she never sought to hide them--Mrs. Beauclerc felt powerless for correction. "What is to become of you?" groaned Mrs. Beauclerc. "I'm sure I don't know, mamma; something good, I hope," returned the saucy girl. "Little Ferraday--I had called him up here to give him some cakes--could not think where his kite had vanished, and began to roar; so I found him sixpence and sent him into the town to buy another. I don't know whether he got lost or run over. The nurse seemed to think it would be one of the two, for she went into a fit when she found he had gone off alone." "Georgina, I tell you these things cannot be permitted to continue. You are no longer a child." The colloquy was interrupted by the entrance of the dean: a genial-looking man, with silver buckles in his shoes, and a face very much like Georgina's own. He had apparently just come in, for he had his shovel hat in his hand. The girl loved her father above everything on earth; to _his_ slightest word she rendered implicit homage; though she waged hot war with all others in authority over her, commencing with Mrs. Beauclerc. She flew to the dean with a beaming face, and he clasped his arms round her with a gesture of the fondest affection. Mrs. Beauclerc left the room. She never cared to enter into a contest with her daughter before the dean. "My Georgina!" came forth the loving whisper. "Papa, _is_ it one o'clock?" "Not yet, my dear." "I'm sure I heard the college clock strike." "You thought you did, perhaps. It must have been the quarters." "Oh, dear! I have been calling Mr. Wilberforce hard names for nothing." "What has Mr. Wilberforce done to you, my Georgie?" "I thought he was keeping the school in; and I want to speak to Frederick St. John." They were interrupted. One of the servants appeared, and said a gentleman was asking permission to see the dean. The dean took the credential card handed to him: "Mr. Peter Arkell." "Show Mr. Arkell up," said the dean. "Georgina, my dear, you can go to your mamma." "I'd rather stay here, papa," she said, boldly.