It was the next evening. Several of the boarders who had finished preparing their lessons were loitering in the dining-hall, Laura and Lilith among them. In the group was a girl called Lucy, young but very saucy; for she lived at Toorak, and came of one of the best families in Melbourne. She was not as old as Laura by two years, but was already feared and respected for the fine scorn of her opinions. Lilith Gordon had bragged: "My uncle's promised me a gold watch and chain when I pass matric." Lucy of Toorak laughed: her nose came down, and her mouth went up at the corners. "Do you think you ever will?" "G. o. k. and He won't tell. But I'll probably get the watch all the same." "Where does your uncle hang out?" "Brisbane." "Sure he can afford to buy it?" "Of course he can." "What is he?" Lilith was unlucky enough to hesitate, ever so slightly. "Oh, he's got plenty of money," she asserted. "She doesn't like to say what he is!" "I don't care whether I say it or not." "A butcher, p'raps, or an undertaker?" "A butcher! He's got the biggest newspaper in Brisbane!" "A newspaper! Great Scott! Her uncle keeps a newspaper!" There was a burst of laughter from those standing round. Lilith was scarlet now. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," she said angrily. But Lucy of Toorak could not recover from her amusement. "An uncle who keeps a newspaper! A newspaper! Well, I'm glad none of MY uncles are so rummy.--I say, does he leave it at front doors himself in the morning?" Laura had at first looked passively on, well pleased to see another than herself the butt of young Lucy's wit. But at this stage of her existence she was too intent on currying favour, to side with any but the stronger party. And so she joined in the boisterous mirth Lilith's admission and Lucy's reception of it excited, and flung her gibes with the rest. She was pulled up short by a hissing in her ear. "If you say one word more, I'll tell about the embroidery!" Laura went pale with fright: she had been in good spirits that day, and had quite forgotten her silly confidence of the night before. Now, the jeer that was on the tip of her tongue hung fire. She could not all at once obliterate her smile--that would have been noticeable; but it grew weaker, stiffer and more unnatural, then gradually faded away, leaving her with a very solemn little face. From this night on, Lilith Gordon represented a powder-mine, which might explode at any minute.--And she herself had laid the train!