Turquoise and Ruby. Meade L. T.

with herself, this was her letter:

      “My Dear Old Dad: I am sending this straight to your office in the City, for I don’t want the mum-mum to know anything about it. There are times when a girl has to apply straight to her dad to put things right for her.

      “Now, dad, darling; I want five pounds. I am having a little speculation on my own account in the school. You know from whom I have inherited the spirit of speculation. It is from no one else than the dear dad himself – that wealthy delightful creature, who turns everything he touches into gold. Well, your own Susanna has inherited your peculiarities, and when I leave school, there is no saying but I may be able to give you some points. Anyhow, if you will trust me with the money and not say a single word about it to mummy, you may have it back again double, some day – I don’t exactly say when. Don’t refuse me, like a dear, for my heart is really set on this, or I would not apply to you; and what use is it to be the only daughter of the richest dad in England if he can’t grant me such a small whim? Five pounds, therefore, please, daddie mine, by return of post, and no questions asked.

      “Your loving daughter, —

      “Susanna.

      “P.S. You and mother will be sure to come to Hazlitt Chase on the day of the break-up, and then I think you will see what will surprise you, namely: your own girl in a very prominent and exalted position. Breathe not this to the mummy, or to anybody, but be your Susanna’s best of friends.”

      Susanna was decidedly under the impression that this letter would do the business, and she was right. For she had taken the great City merchant by surprise, and although most men would be shocked to think that a schoolgirl daughter was engaged in money speculations, this man only laughed and shook from side to side in his merriment and, opening a drawer on the spot, took a crisp five-pound note from a certain recess and popped it into an envelope with the words: “Go it, Susanna.” The money reached Susanna accordingly by the first post on the following morning. The other girls received their five-pound notes at different times during the day, and Penelope was in possession of twenty pounds that very evening.

      But now arose an unlooked-for and unexpected difficulty. Mrs Hazlitt was not so unobservant as her pupils supposed her to be. She trusted them, it is true; but she never absolutely gave them her full confidence. Their letters were supposed to be under her jurisdiction; but she was not the sort of woman to open a letter addressed to a parent or guardian, although at the same time she clearly gave the said guardians and parents to understand that, if necessity arose, she would feel obliged to open letters.

      She had not opened any one of the five letters which left her house on a certain evening, but she did observe the excited appearance of Penelope, the change from dull apathy into watchfulness; the manner, too, in which Susanna absolutely neglected all her lessons, Mary L’Estrange’s anxious face, Annie Leicester’s want of appetite, and Cara Burt’s headache. Cara Burt was, indeed, so overpowered that she could neither attend to her lessons, nor appear at the mid-day meal.

      Now, all these symptoms – strange in themselves as only assailing the five girls who were to take part in “A Dream of Fair Women” – could not but arouse the headmistress’ suspicions; but when they unaccountably vanished on the arrival of the post on the following morning, and when each girl seemed happy and relieved once more, Mrs Hazlitt felt sure that something had occurred which she ought to know about. She accordingly spoke to Deborah, who was her factotum in the school.

      Deborah has been mentioned hitherto as the English governess. She held that position, but not in its entirety. It is true that she taught the young girls English history and literature, helped them with their spelling, and attended to their writing. But there was also a very special, highly educated woman to give lessons in English literature and English composition to all the elder girls, and, besides this, Mrs Hazlitt herself taught English as no one else could, for she was a profound scholar and had a mind of the highest order. Deborah, however, was indispensable for the simple reason that she was honest, exceedingly unselfish, and could do those thousand and one things for the girls which only a person who never thought of herself could achieve. Mrs Hazlitt, therefore, determined to speak to Deborah now on the subject of the girls.

      It was the pleasant hour of recess. What a beautiful calm rested over the place! The sun shone forth from a cloudless sky; the trees were in their full summer green; there were shadow and sunlight intermingled all over the lovely old place. The house itself was so old and the walls so thick that great heat could never penetrate; and Mrs Hazlitt chose as her place of confidence her own tiny oak parlour where she sat when she wanted to rest and did not wish to be intruded upon.

      “Deborah,” she said on this occasion, “will you come with me into the parlour? I suppose the children are all right, and you need not trouble about them. That good-natured girl, Penelope Carlton, will look after them if you ask her.”

      “I don’t know,” replied Deborah; “she is up in her room writing. She said she had a special letter she wanted to write, but I have no doubt they won’t get into any mischief. I will just go and talk to them for a minute and put them on their honour.”

      “Do, Deborah,” said Mrs Hazlitt, “and then come back to me. Don’t tell any one what you are specially doing; just come here; I shall be waiting for you.”

      The governess withdrew, to return in the course of a few minutes.

      “It’s all right,” she said. “I went first of all to Penelope, but she seemed rather fluttered at being disturbed and said that she always did suppose that recess was at her own disposal. But the children will be quite good; they will play in the woods and keep out of the sunshine.”

      “Then that is all right,” said Mrs Hazlitt. “And what is Penelope doing in her room, Deborah?”

      “She is writing a letter.”

      “A letter?” said Mrs Hazlitt. “Did you see her writing one?”

      “Oh, yes – at least I think so.”

      Deborah coloured, for she knew that Penelope had hastily put a sheet of paper over the letter when the English teacher had entered the bedroom. Deborah never would tell tales of the pupils whom she loved, nor did Mrs Hazlitt expect her to. Nevertheless, that good woman gazed now intently at the English governess.

      “Deborah,” she said, “I cannot help confiding in you. There is a spirit at present abroad in this school which I feel, without being able to differentiate. It is an unholy and a mischievous spirit and it has never been in our midst before. There are certain girls in the school who are acting in a sort of conspiracy. I cannot tell why, but I feel assured on that point, and I believe that the head of the conspiracy is no less a person than Penelope Carlton.”

      “Now, my dear Mrs Hazlitt,” said Deborah Duke, “I never did hear you give way to such unchristian sentiments before. You will forgive me, my dear friend, my best friend – but why should you accuse poor little Penelope of anything so base?”

      “I accuse her of nothing, but I have a feeling about her. I know for a fact that five letters left this house a couple of days ago – on the evening of the day when it was decided that Penelope was to take the part of Helen of Troy. I also know that five letters in reply were received this morning, and that they gave universal satisfaction. During the time of suspense between the departure of the letters and their replies four of my pupils were absolutely good for nothing – uneasy, incapable of work; in short, quite unlike themselves. It is my rule not to open my pupils’ letters; nevertheless, I am full of suspicions, and my suspicions particularly centre round the girl who is to take the part of Helen of Troy. Why did she volunteer for the part? I can put up with her, but she is not suitable. Do you know anything about it, Deborah?”

      “All I know is this,” replied Deborah – “that Honora Beverley would not take the part because she was full of horror with regard to the character. I thought ‘A Dream of Fair Women’ was practically at an end when Penelope – of all people – came forward. I believe she was very much pressed by the other girls to do this. They thought of her because she is fair.”

      Mrs Hazlitt looked full at Miss Duke. After a minute, she said abruptly:

      “You