“In Northumberland Avenue.  But, of course, we are not going up to London,” said Alice.  “We are only schoolgirls.  We are at school and must mind our lessons.  I am trying for my scholarship, and I mean to get it.  And I don’t suppose, even if your aunt is coming at a most inopportune time, that she is going to upset everything.”

“That remains to be proved,” said Kathleen.  “I am not going to have Aunt Katie so close to me without having my bit of fun.  Oh, dear, dear! look at the time.  I must be off.”

“Why are you going so early?  It is only half-past eight.”

“I have business, darling—­a friend to meet.  Have you any objection?”

Kathleen did not wait for Alice’s answer.  She dashed upstairs, and on the first landing she met Mrs. Tennant, who had been suffering from headache, and was in consequence a little late for breakfast.

“Mrs. Tennant,” shouted Kathleen, “I have the top of the morning as far as news is concerned.  It is herself that is crossing the briny.  She’ll be in London to-night.  Oh, did you ever hear of anything quite so scrumptious?  But what’s the matter, dear?”

“Kathleen, I wish you wouldn’t wear that really good dress going to school.”

“Is it my old lavender, and my old satin blouse?” said Kathleen, looking down at herself with a momentary glance.  “Ah, then, my dear tired one, it isn’t dresses I’ll be thinking of when Aunt Katie is in London.  She’ll get me more than I can wear.  She’ll fig you all out, every one of you, if you like—­you and Alice and David and Ben and cook and Maria.  Maria is keeping company, she tells me, and would like a few fine clothes—­naturally, the creature!  Well, Mrs. Tennant, it’s herself that is crossing, as I said; even now she is in the big steamer, coming nearer and nearer to England.  Shan’t we have fun when she arrives?”

“You haven’t told me who it is yet, dear.”

“Oh, darling, you haven’t been listening.  It is the dear woman who sent me the box full of new clothes—­Aunt Katie O’Flynn, at your service.  But there!  I must be off.  I’ll think of it all day, and it will make me so happy.”

Kathleen dashed away to her own room, put on her outdoor things, and a moment or two later was running as fast as she could in the direction of the White Cross Corner.  There she saw a silent, grave-looking girl, very quietly dressed, standing waiting for her.

“Here I am,” said Kathleen; “and here you stand, Ruth.  And now, what have you got to say for yourself?”

“I am sorry,” said Ruth.  “I thought when you sent Susy to me with your message that I might as well come here this morning; but I haven’t changed my mind—­not a bit of it.”

Kathleen’s eyes, always extraordinarily dark for blue eyes, now grew almost black.  A flash of real anger shot through them.

“Don’t you think it is rather mean,” she said, “to give me up when you promised to belong to me—­to give me up altogether and to go with those dreadful, proud paying girls?”