"'I do not love you, Dr. Fell, The reason why I cannot tell!'" quoted Calla.
"But I can tell the reason. She's cross, and a martinet, and she never makes any jolly jokes like Tatie used to do—bless her heart!"
"You're altogether gone on Tatie nowadays."
"Of course I am. I wrote her a letter last Saturday, and she sent me a picture post card of the place she's staying at."
"O-o-h! Do give me the address. I'll write to her too. I never thought of it."
"Let's write her a round-robin and say we wish she was back and we detest Miss Ormerod," suggested Marion impulsively.
"No! No! That would spoil her holiday. The doctor said she wasn't to have any worry."
If the Sixth Form resented the attitude of the new principal the juniors were even more prejudiced. They discussed her among themselves and set her down as "a brute". Edie Browne, who, out of sheer opposition, ventured a word in her favour, was promptly squashed.
"It's not fashionable to like her," declared Maisie Martin, and Maisie led the opinions of the lower school.
Lesbia had at first reserved her judgment, but soon she had very good cause to rue the advent of Miss Ormerod. As junior assistant governess she still taught in Forms I and II. Teaching was not Lesbia's natural walk in life, and though she struggled on with it she really did not do it very well. Miss Tatham, having made the arrangement so as to cancel her fees and allow her to remain at the High School, had been rather lenient with her, and had overlooked many palpable deficiencies. Not so Miss Ormerod. She had an immensely high ideal of a teacher's standard, and she was carefully testing the capacities of her staff. One Wednesday proved a black day for Lesbia. Directly she walked into IIb she became aware of a spirit of general unrest. The girls were "out of hand". She had been through similar crises before and knew the symptoms. Fanny Holden was lolling on her desk instead of sitting upright, Rose Davis and Marjory Birkshaw had their heads bent together. Ella Wilkinson was fidgeting with her pencil box, Gladys Dorman kept casting meaning glances at Chrissie Taylor, and Mary Avens, in defiance of all schoolroom tradition, had pulled off her ribbon and was re-plaiting her wisp of a pigtail. The blackboard, which ought to have been cleaned, still bore sums in vulgar fractions. The map had not yet been put out. Lesbia rapped on the desk and called the form to order.