"You've been crying," said Marjorie tactlessly.
Her chum flushed crimson.
"I've not! I wish you'd just let me alone."
"Cheer oh! Don't get raggy, old sport!"
Chrissie turned away, and, opening her book, began to read.
"Will you come round the field with me?" asked Marjorie.
"No, thanks; I'd rather stay where I am."
"Oh, very well! I'm off. Ta-ta!"
This was not the first little tiff that had taken place between the two girls. Chrissie seemed to have changed lately. She was moody and self-absorbed, and ready to fire up on very slight provocation. Her devotion to Marjorie seemed to have somewhat waned. She scarcely ever made her presents now or wrote her notes. She was chatty enough in the dormitory, but saw little of her in recreation hours. Marjorie set this down to jealousy of her friendship with Winifrede. In her absorption in her head girl she had certainly not given Chrissie so much of her time as formerly. She walked along the field now rather soberly. She disliked quarrelling, but her own temper was hot as well as her chum's.
"I can't help it," she groused. "Chrissie's always taking offence. Everything I do seems to rub her the wrong way. She needn't think I'm going to give up Winifrede! I wish she'd be more sensible. Well, I don't care; I shall just take no notice and leave her to herself, and then she'll probably come round."