"You're a beastly one yourself--you pretend you like her----" "But I do! I admire her heaps! But I understand her. You don't. She likes to be top dog. She'll do anything for that. She likes to know every woman and child in the school is a bit of putty, to knead into shape. I know! I've met her sort before--only generally it was men they were after. And yet it bores her too----" parenthesised Cynthia shrewdly. "That's why she likes me. I don't care two pins for her tricks. That stings her up a bit. She'll be mighty bored when I go." Louise listened, angry, yet fascinated. It gave her a curious pleasure to hear Miss Hartill belied. She would hug herself for her own superior discernment. A phrase from a half-digested story often recurred to her: "One doesn't defend one's god! One's god is a defence in himself." But Cynthia was going too far--abandoning innuendo for direct assault. She struck back. "It's easy to say things. Just saying so doesn't make it so. And if it did, I shouldn't believe it." "Oh! I can prove it." Cynthia laughed. "Have you noticed the Charette comedy?" "Mademoiselle? Oh, she hates Miss Hartill. But she's French, of course." "Does she just? H'm----!" "Well, there was a French girl--she left last term--she told Marion that Mademoiselle had said things to her about Miss Hartill. Agatha told me. Agatha loathes Mademoiselle. Of course, Mademoiselle is rather down on her." "I don't wonder. You know how Agatha hazes her in class." "I can't stand Agatha." Louise shook herself. "Last French Grammar it was awful--silly, you know, not funny. One simply couldn't work. Mademoiselle kept her in. I suppose Agatha didn't like that. She's been a lamb since, anyway. About time too!" "Shucks! It wasn't being kept in. It was Clarissa. Oh, my dear, it was fun! There was poor little Mademoiselle, storming away in her absurd English, and Agatha cheeking her for all she was worth." "How did you hear?" "Why, I was in the studio! Agatha didn't know we were there, of course. The glass doors were open. You know, Daffy gives me extra drawing. And just when Agatha was in full swing, and Mademoiselle speechless with rage, Miss Hartill turned up--wanted Daffy." "Oh, go on!" Louise cried breathlessly.