"You know," one of them declared as they lined up, "she can get down the field before you can look round, when she's on the ball and there's a chance for a shot at goal." "You're right," said Gwen Parker, the former school right wing, who had returned with several others to compete for her house, Sports Day being officially a last year's event. "I've found myself with all my work cut out to keep up with her when she gets on the move in a match." "Still, Vanda can _stay_, and that's what counts in the half-mile." "Yes, or else I should have had a shot at it," replied Gwen. Then somebody shouted: "Mind you don't go to sleep in the middle, Cato, thinking it's bedtime!" And that fetched a general laugh. The next minute the four were off, running with steady strides, Vanda and Duane side by side and a few paces behind the other two. At the end of the second lap the two rash ones who had rushed ahead at the beginning had dropped behind, panting and breathless. Now Vanda and Duane were in front, running neck and neck. The pace was already fast but Eileen increased it, hoping to gain the lead, and as they entered the last lap, Vanda leading but Duane refusing to drop behind by more than a yard, the yells of the Prince's girls increased in volume. The excitement was intense. Even France, who was wont to declaim emphatically that she had no patience with these "races and things," hopped wildly about at Kitty's side and yelled to Duane as she passed: "Go it! Remember the match against Winthorpe last year!" The critical moment had come. Duane quickened her long strides with a scarcely perceptible effort, drew ahead of Vanda, and passed her, despite her attempt at a spurt, increasing her lead all down the last half-lap, "running," so France declared excitedly, "just as if it were the hundred yards' sprint." Kitty cheered with the rest, and as Duane, breathing hurriedly but otherwise looking the same as usual, strolled up in her leisurely fashion with her hands in her blazer pockets, she said impulsively, "By Jove! you can run, then, Duane." Duane's glance met Kitty's quizzically. "Really think so?" she drawled. "Have I at last won a word of praise from you? I can hardly express my overpowering emotion." Kitty's face flamed, and she fell back a step, feeling as if the other girl had slapped her in the face. "It was horrid of her to say that," she thought to herself, feeling hurt and resentful. "I really did mean it quite sincerely." Duane, meanwhile, went on after a short pause, "It's your turn next. Now show them that I'm not the only gifted one." Kitty looked straight at her just for a moment and her eyes sparkled. "I'm going to," she snapped, and turned away, vowing that she would win the quarter-mile or die in the attempt. Strange to say, for once Kitty was not thinking of the honour of Carslake's; as she lined up for the race with lips set determinedly, the house was not even in her mind, only the house's head prefect.