"Annie, you cannot make me that promise. Say nothing more about it." "Oh, well, if you won't talk of it, it can't be helped. I am going to Mabel now." "Annie, I suppose you mean kindly, and I suppose I ought to feel that you do; but you don't understand. It is a case of _noblesse oblige_ with me. If I did stoop to what you suggest I should never, never have a happy hour again." "Very well," said Annie. "I am glad I have not such a troublesome conscience." As she spoke she skipped away from her companion and joined the other girls on the lawn. Two little girls of about eleven and twelve years of age ran up to her. Their names were Flora and Violet Frere. "What are you looking so solemn about, Annie?" asked Violet. "Oh, I am worried. Poor old Priscie has got to leave school. Isn't it an awful shame?" Violet gave a sort of howl. "I can't live without Priscie. I don't believe it for a single minute. Where is she?" "She is walking up and down in the shrubbery. I tell you what it is, Vi. You have great influence with her. You and Flora both go to her now, and put your arms about her, and pet her a lot, and tell her that she simply must not go--that she must stay with you whatever happens." "Come, Flora," said Violet--"Thank you, Annie, for telling us. We'll certainly go and _make_ dear Priscie stay." "Yes," said Flora. "I wouldn't stay at school myself if Priscie were to leave. I should be a very naughty girl; I would run away." "And so would I," said Violet. Annie stood still for a minute or two after the little girls had left her; then she went into the house. She felt troubled. Annie was by no means the best of girls. She had naturally a turn for crooked and underhand ways. She was ambitious and discontented with her own lot. When she left school she would go to stay with her uncle, the Rev Maurice Butler. She would live in a musty old rectory in a very dull part of England, and see hardly any people, and try to devote her time to mothers' meetings and school feasts, and all the thousand and one things which occupy a young girl's time when she happens to be the niece or daughter of the rector. Now, Annie had no taste for these occupations. She hated the holidays, which she had invariably to spend at Burfield Rectory. She had no appreciation for Uncle Maurice, although he was the best and kindest of men. She wanted to get into the world. She pined to enjoy herself. She was neither very pretty nor very clever. She was, as far as appearance went, an everyday sort of girl. It is true, she had lovely golden hair, but that was about all. At school she was the sort of girl who, apparently good-natured, makes many friends. Her object was to make friends. Her one desire in life was to secure the goodwill of her school companions, so that by-and-by they might invite her to their houses and give her the sort of good time she had always pined for. She