"Italy--France--Deutschland--I'd done everywhere but England. Now comes a tour round the world--and so home. I'm Californian, you know. I'll have great times then. You don't live, over here. You're afraid of your own shadows. Now an American girl----" "How do you mean?" "Aren't you? Always afraid of breaking rules? Haven't I asked you--haven't I begged you to come out with me one day? Oh, Louise, it would be great! I saw a taxi-man yesterday, outside church, with the duckiest eyes! Lunch somewhere, and 'phone through for the new show at Daly's. An American show! Dandy! Only taken you four years to transfer here! Let's go, Louise? We'd be back to supper." Louise twinkled. "Rot! We'd be expelled." Cynthia opened her china-blue eyes. "For a little thing like that? Why? We wouldn't miss a class. Besides, we'd say you asked me home to tea." Louise looked distressed. Their ideas of veracity had clashed before. Cynthia, watching mischievously, giggled. "Poor kid! Doesn't it want to tell lies, then?" "You see--English people don't! Of course, I know it's different abroad," said Louise delicately. "Haven't you ever, Louise?" Louise flushed crimson. "You have?" Cynthia was amused. "What was it, Louise? Oh, what was it? Tell! Oh, you needn't mind me--my average is--well, quite average. What was it?" Louise's lips closed. "I call you the limit, you know! 'English people don't!' With a red-hot tarradiddle on your little white conscience all the time. You're a good pupil, Louise." Louise, blushing, turned suspiciously. "What are you at now!" she demanded. "I was thinking of Clarissa." Cynthia smiled with intention. "Clarissa who?" "Clare, kid! Clare! Sweet Clare! Sugar-sweet Clare! Our dear Dame Double!" "I wish you wouldn't talk like that," said Louise, in her lowest voice. "You know I hate it." "All right, honey!" Cynthia rolled lazily on to her side and pulled a box of chocolates from the shelf beside her. The room was quiet for a while. "Cynthia?" "Um?" "What did you mean just now?" "Have a candy?" "No, thanks!" Cynthia munched on. "About Miss Hartill?" Louise's tone was half defiant, half guilty. She felt disloyal in re-opening the subject. Yet Cynthia's hints rankled. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess." "Oh, but you did mean something," said Louise uneasily. "Maybe." "Tell me." "Want to know?" "Yes." "Badly?" "It's not true, of course! But I'd like to know." Cynthia's eyes danced. She could be grave enough otherwise, but her eyes and her dimples could never be kept in order. "Tell about the tarradiddle first, and I will." But to Louise a lie was a lie and no joking matter. She fidgeted. "If you must know----" "I must." "Well--you know how Miss Hartill hates birthdays?" "Why?" "At least, school ones. You know, there's such a fuss at Miss Marsham's--a holiday, presents, and all that. So Miss Hartill won't let hers be known." "'Splendid Isolation' stunt."