As she did not feel up to any great exertion, Monica spent the greater part of the afternoon and evening in writing a long letter to her father, telling him, in detail, all about her new school, and, above all, about her new-found friend. She also described the happenings of that unfortunate morning, taking care not to spare herself in the least; but she felt too shy to say much in reply to his letter, the only remark she made being: "I have been thinking about what you wrote, dad dear, and I mean to try and learn the hard lesson, but I haven’t found a teacher yet." And when the father read the girlish, blotted, and rather badly spelt letter, some weeks later, in far off Simla, the tears rose to his eyes, while he bowed his head and prayed that God would send some one to guide his little daughter into the only safe path. While Monica was engaged in writing her letter, Amethyst Drury was busy playing hostess to the two Franklyns. It was such a lovely sunny afternoon that Mrs. Drury had given permission for the trio to have tea in the little rustic summer-house overlooking the pretty, but by no means large, lawn. "Isn’t it fun having tea out here?" remarked Amethyst, as the three girls sat lazily in the garden chairs, having done ample justice to the cocoanut cake and raspberry jam sandwiches, which had been provided for the feast by kind Mrs. Drury. "Awfully nice," admitted Olive, "but I must say I wish Monica could have been here too." "Oh! Ollie," said Elsa, hastily, with an apologetic glance at Amethyst, for she feared she would think her sister rude. Amethyst’s eyes flashed, and she burst out indignantly: "I can’t bear that girl! She’s going to spoil everything, and we had such lovely times together before she came." And her lips trembled, and in a minute more there would have been an April shower. But Elsa the peacemaker interposed. Putting her arm lovingly round the little hostess, she said, soothingly: "Olive didn’t mean anything unkind, dear, I am sure. And I don’t think Monica will make much difference, because, you see, she lives so far away. And besides, if Olive and Monica become great friends, that leaves me out in the cold; and I want you, Thistle." "Of course," added Olive. "You two are cut out for each other, and I always feel like a fish out of water amongst you. But let’s have a game now, shall we?" And in the intricacies of playing croquet-golf, as best they could, all against all, the little unpleasantness blew over. *CHAPTER VII.* *"THIS IS MONICA BEAUCHAMP, MOTHER."* But Amethyst remembered it again, later on, as she was preparing to get into her little white bed, after the Saturday night bathing operations were over. Mrs. Drury was with her, brushing out the soft fair hair, and plaiting it up into a smooth pigtail.