The Ramsays walked home together along the High Street to Bridge House.
Muriel Burnitt, escorted by Florrie and Viola Leach and the three little
Andrews, was on in front, pluming herself upon her victory. The Careys
had disappeared down the short cut to the Vicarage. Mavis hardly dared to
look at Merle. The latter kept her face turned away and blinked her eyes
hard. She had enough self-restraint not to weep openly in the High
Street. When they reached their own door however, she bolted through the
surgery entrance and, running into the garden, hid herself in the
summer-house, whither Mavis, after a word to Aunt Nellie, presently
followed her to offer what consolation she could.

"It's not that I'm jealous of _you_!" sobbed Merle stormily. "I
wanted us both to win! What does Muriel know about a decent game of
hockey, or how to conduct a society, or run a school magazine? It's
idiotic that she should be chosen. Neither she nor Iva nor Nesta has ever
been at a big school. A precious bungle they'll make of their meetings. I
know _you'll_ be there--but you're so gentle you'll never stand up
against them, and they'll have everything their own silly way. 'The
Moorings' won't be very much changed if it's just to be run upon the same
old lines. I shan't bother to try and help. I might have done so much if
they'd elected me, but what's the use now? I'm frightfully and
frantically disappointed. If Miss Mitchell had had any sense she'd have
waited a fortnight till she got to know the girls, and then have chosen
the monitresses herself. If it's Miss Fanny's fault, I'm not friends with
her any more! Tea-time, did you say? I suppose I shall have to come in
then, though I really don't want any. Ugh! I hate everything!"

Tea that day was a dreary affair. Uncle David was out, Aunt Nellie had a
headache so was unusually quiet, and Merle, with red eyes, sat silent and
brooding. Mavis tried desperately to make a little conversation, but it