"Hot cocoa and sandwiches will be served in the library, girls," said Miss Julian, smiling at all the bright, happy faces round her, as they trooped into the hall. "Then I shall expect you all to get to bed and to sleep as quickly and with as little noise or commotion as possible. No chattering in the dormitories, mind."
There was a chorus of promises of obedience to the Principal's wishes; and when the cocoa and sandwiches had been disposed of round the still glowing fire in the library there was a general movement for bed. As Nat was on her way upstairs she slipped into the passage on to which the studies opened, intending to fetch a pair of indoor shoes which she had left in her room. To her amazement a shaft of light shone beneath the door. Had Monica forgotten to switch off the light before leaving? Had it been overlooked by the mistress who made her nightly round to see that no lights were left burning? Hurriedly she pushed open the door, and gave a gasp of amazement to find the room occupied.
Monica sat there, huddled up in a chair, with her elbows propped on her knees and her chin in her hands, staring fixedly at the opposite wall and apparently lost in thought—or dreams. On the table in front of her lay what looked like an oblong piece of cardboard, but at second glance proved to be a picture or photograph.
"Whatever are you doing here?" exclaimed Nat. "Why aren't you in bed?"
As Nat spoke Monica turned the photograph over, so that it lay face downwards.
"I did go up when bed bell went," she explained. "I was the only one in the dormitory, and it seemed so queer and lonely that after Miss Moore had come round and put out the lights I crept down here again, and read until I heard you come in. I was just going upstairs again."
"It was rather a shame, being the only one left out of it," Nat agreed. Then, touched by Monica's forlorn words and look, she added impulsively: "I say, I'm sorry I made such a fuss over that business about Irene and the hockey match. I expect I sounded an awful prig. Let's forget it, shall we? I'd much rather be in my own study with you—even with all those horrible things on the walls—than pushing myself in with other girls who don't really want me, nice though they are about it, and where there isn't room for my big feet."
Monica made no reply. She had picked up the piece of cardboard from the table and was unconsciously twisting and turning it between her fingers, her head lowered so that her face could not be seen. In the bright electric light Nat saw a tear splash on the polished surface of the little table.
"I say," she exclaimed, alarmed. "You're never crying, are you? Don't you feel well, or something?"
Monica looked up, blew her nose vigorously and laughed, though her eyelashes were wet. "No, I'm not crying," she averred, "and I don't feel in the least ill. All the same, I'm glad I shall have somebody to talk to to-morrow. It was miserable sitting here alone all day."