French."

"Done it, thanks," said Avice. "And I suppose I can speak to my own
brother if I like."

"No, you can't--in lesson time," said the teacher.

"Who's going to stop me?"

Cecilia Rainham controlled herself with an effort.

"Bring me your work," she said.

She went over the untidy French exercise with a quick eye. When she had
finished it resembled a stormy sky--a groundwork of blue-black, blotted
writing, lit by innumerable dashes of red. Cecilia put down her red
pencil.

"It's hopeless, Avice. You haven't tried a bit. And you know it isn't
hard--you did a far more difficult piece of translation without a
mistake last Friday."

"Yes, but the pantomime was coming off on Saturday," said Wilfred, with
a grin. "Jolly little chance of tickets from Bob if she didn't!"

"You shut up!" said Avice.

"Be quiet, both of you," Cecilia ordered, a spot of red in each pale
cheek. "Remember, there will be other Saturdays. Bob will do nothing for
you if I can't give him a decent report of you." It was the threat she