the head of the school, one of the most persuasive, most fascinating, and most influential teachers in the whole realm of girlhood.  Her opinion was asked by anxious mothers and fathers and guardians.  The girls whom she took into her own house and helped with her own counsel were thought the luckiest in England.  Even Alice, who was reckoned a good girl as good girls go, had never before come in personal contact with Miss Ravenscroft.  The head-mistress superintended the management of every girl in the school, but she did not show herself except when she read prayers in her deep musical voice morning after morning, or when something very special occurred.  Miss Ravenscroft did not smile when Alice appeared, nor did she hold out her hand.  She bowed very slightly and then dropped into a chair, and pointed to another for the girl to take.

“You are Alice Tennant?”

“Yes, madam.”

“You are in the upper fifth?”

“Yes,” said Alice again.

“I have had very good reports of you from Miss Purcell and Miss Dove and others; you will probably be in the sixth next year.”

“I hope so; it will be a very great delight to me.”

Alice trembled and colored, looked down, and then looked up again.  Miss Ravenscroft was regarding her with kindly eyes.  Hers was a sort of veiled face; she seldom gave way to her feelings.  Part of her power lay in her potential attitudes, in the possibilities which she seldom, except on very rare occasions, exhibited to their fullest extent.  Alice felt that she had only approached the extreme edge of Miss Ravenscroft’s nature.  Miss Ravenscroft was silent for a minute; then she said gently: 

“And your friend, Kathleen O’Hara?  I wrote to her also.  Why isn’t she here?”

“I am very sorry indeed,” said Alice; “it isn’t my fault.”

“We won’t talk of faults, if you please, Alice Tennant.  I asked you why your friend isn’t here.”

“I must explain.  She isn’t my friend.  She lives with mother—­I mean she boards with mother.”

“Why isn’t she here?”

“She got your letter.  I suppose she didn’t understand; she is so new to schools.  She is not coming.”

“Not coming?  But I commanded.”

“I know, I tried to explain, but she is new to school and—­and spoilt.”

“She must be.”

Miss Ravenscroft was silent for a minute.

“We will defer the subject of Kathleen O’Hara until I have the pleasure of speaking to her,” she said then.  “But now, as you are here, I should like to ask you a few questions.”

“Yes.”

“What you say, Alice Tennant, will not be—­I speak in judicial phrase”—­here Miss Ravenscroft gave vent to a faint smile—­“used against you.  I should like to have what information you can give me.  There is a disturbing element in this school.  Do you know anything about it?”

“Nothing absolutely.”

“But you agree with me that there is a disturbing element?”