"If you do, she'll be rather pleased than otherwise," returned Raymonde. "She'll pose as a martyr then, and say the world is unsympathetic. I'm beginning to know Cynthia Greene." "I believe you're right!" said the monitress thoughtfully. Sentiment was not encouraged at the Grange. Miss Beasley very rightly thought that girls should keep their childhood as long as possible, and that premature love affairs wiped the bloom off genuine later experiences. The school in general assumed the attitude of scoffing at romance, except in the pages of the library books. It was not considered good form to allude to it. Tennis or hockey was a more popular topic. "So Cynthia's trying to run the sentimental business," mused Hermie. "It'll spread if we don't take care. It's as infectious as measles. I'm not going to have all those juniors wandering about the garden, reading poetry instead of practising their cricket--it's not good enough. Yet it's difficult for a monitress to interfere. As you say, Cynthia would take a melancholy pride in being persecuted. Look here, Raymonde, you're a young blighter yourself sometimes, but you don't go in for this kind of rubbish. Can't you think of some plan to nip the thing in the bud before it goes further? You're generally inventive enough!" "If I might have a free hand for a day or two, I might manage something," admitted Raymonde with caution. "I'd tell the other monitresses to let you alone. I don't mind how you contrive it, as long as you knock the nonsense out of the juniors. Cynthia Greene of all people, too! The former ornament of The Poplars, who used to keep up the tone (so she says) and set an example to the rest. What is she coming to? I should think they'd want that bracelet back, if they knew!" The Mystic Seven had a special Committee Meeting before tea, and pledged one another to utmost secrecy. The result of their confabulations seemed satisfactory to themselves, for they parted chuckling. The next morning, when Cynthia Greene went to her desk to take out a lesson book, she found inside a letter addressed to herself. She opened it in a whirl of excitement. It was written in a slanting, backward kind of hand, with a very thick pen. Its contents ran thus: "Dear Miss Cynthia, "Being the fortunate recipient of the card placed in a strawberry basket, and bearing your name, I am venturing to answer it. I, too, am lonely, and long for friendship. I admire blue eyes and fair hair; I myself am dark. I should like immensely to meet you. Could you possibly be at the side gate of your garden shortly after seven this evening? I shall arrive by motor, and walk past on the chance of seeing you. "Yours respectfully but devotedly, "Algernon Augustus Fitzmaurice."