Duane flushed and looked uncomfortable. She had told her story with brief simplicity, plainly and unvarnishedly--not as it has been related here. But her two listeners, knowing the dramatis personæ so well, had imagined clearly and vividly all the details and side issues that Duane had mentioned so baldly. The girl had, to a great extent, dropped her flippant, blasé manner to tell the story. Now, for a moment she succeeded in throwing off the reserve in which she had been trained to hide her emotions, as she had done before Kitty in the hut last night. "I--Miss St. Leger, perhaps I made an awful mess of things," she said in a low voice. "When you talked to me that day you asked me to--to take on the head prefectship, and I promised you I would do my best for the house. I honestly meant it. I--it made me feel a bit sore sometimes, when I could see quite plainly I wasn't succeeding, and how the girls disliked me----" "Yes, I know," interrupted Miss St. Leger. "But you remember that I told you, knowing well enough your task was a difficult one, that if the juniors were insulting or refused to acknowledge your authority in any way, or if you found yourself in difficulties, you were to come to me and I would settle things for you. As you never came, perhaps I hardly realized how badly things were going sometimes." Kitty broke in, with a chuckle, "Duane wouldn't ask for help from a soul. I know her and her pig-headed pride by now. If she were dying she'd never admit herself beaten." "But I did," said Duane, smiling. "The Richoter complicated things a bit, and, frankly, I didn't want to come to you about it, Miss St. Leger----" "No," interrupted the Principal. "As I said before, you were so busy shielding that child at your own expense that you didn't want me to smell a rat. For I shouldn't and didn't believe it of you, you know. You have been long enough in the school for me to know you, and what you are and are not capable of doing, pretty well by now. However, I believe you had a partiality for the child and that prejudiced you." "But one couldn't help being sorry for her, Miss St. Leger. It seemed so absurd to hold her responsible. She's such a tender-hearted, timid little thing really. She wouldn't hurt a fly if she could help it." "But I could be trusted to see that too," remarked the Principal, somewhat dryly. "Oh yes, Miss St. Leger," replied Duane quickly and with an eagerness that was almost passionate. "Of course, I knew that. If it had only rested with you! But it was the publicity that would have followed that the child couldn't have faced, the realization that everyone in the school knew and somehow despised her. She thought all the girls would be simply disgusted with her. I couldn't make her believe anything else." "The truth is," said Miss St. Leger, "that you are much too soft-hearted for your job."