“That’s where we come in,” agreed Raymonde. “We’re going to pose as philanthropists. One or two of us have got to take Cynthia up. We’ll make her realize, of course, how very kind it is of Fifth Form girls to befriend a lonely junior.”
“And having taken her up—what then?” queried Fauvette.
“Bless your innocence, child! Why, we’ll let her down with a run!”
“Are we all in it?”
“No; it would be too marked. Best leave the affair to Aveline and me. You others must stand aloof and look disinterested but sympathetic. I’ll speak to her at lunch-time.” 25
During the mid-morning interval, therefore, Raymonde singled out her victim. Cynthia was standing slightly apart from her Form, consuming thick bread and butter with an air of pensive melancholy, and twisting a pet bracelet that adorned her wrist. Raymonde strolled up casually.
“Getting on all right?” she began, by way of opening the attack. “I say, you know, I thought I’d just speak to you. I expect you’re having a grizzly time with those wretched juniors. They’re a set of blighters, aren’t they?”
“I do find them a little trying,” admitted Cynthia cautiously, “especially as I was head girl at my old school.”
“Rather a climb-down from Senior to Junior, isn’t it? Why didn’t Miss Beasley put you in the Fifth?”
“My mother asked her to, but she said as I was only thirteen it was quite impossible. It’s all right. I expect to be ragged a little at first. I’ll live it down in time.”