"No," replied France, with a funny air of dignity. "I don't want any bribes. Though I've entered for this race under protest, I'll run my very hardest," and she nodded her head determinedly.
France took her place with a painful expression on her face. "Looks as if she were going to have a tooth out, doesn't she!" whispered Peggy O'Nell to her right-hand neighbour, with a chuckle.
The flag fell. For a few breathless seconds there was nothing to be seen but a flash of black-clad legs, then the runners threw themselves headlong at the tape and burst beyond it. There was scarcely an inch between the first three girls, or so it seemed to the watchers, but the judges gave out the results; France first, Gwen Parker second and Paddy third. Carslake's had gained three points and Sheerston's one; and the day ended in Sheerston's and Carslake's tying for first place.
So, strange to say, it was France who was the hero of the occasion. She found it decidedly a pleasant sensation, and began to plume herself complacently, remarking in a confidential tone to the other seniors: "You know, I always did rather fancy myself as a winger at hockey, if only it weren't such a waste of time using all one's spare minutes just to play a game."
"And that's where you're going to play in future," said Duane firmly. "A girl who can sprint like you can is wasted anywhere else. We'll make it a fair bargain. You come to practices regularly and we'll pose for your blessed Academy pictures, or National Gallery portraits, whichever it happens to be. I'll even," she ended, in a burst of generosity, "come now and again and blow your organ for you when Orpheus is indisposed."
France eyed her study-companion reflectively. "If you can summon up enough energy to come and blow the organ, I'll play in all the house matches; so there," she declared.
The results of Sports Day had certainly improved matters at Carslake's. There was no open rebellion against the head prefect's rule, though now and again there were little unpleasant moments which showed that the house would never quite forget the fact that their head prefect's reputation had a deep and ineradicable stain on it. There was not the same cheerful alacrity displayed in obeying Duane's wishes as in obeying those of the other Sixth-formers; obedience was shown, but it was a grudging obedience and would probably never be anything different.
The following evening Duane was alone in her study, seated in her favourite attitude—that is to say, leaning in the depths of an easy-chair with her feet across another chair—when Kitty entered.
"Hallo! What is it?" inquired Duane, looking up from her book.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," said Kitty, politely.