Duane, her hand on the door-handle, turned and faced them, lounging back against the door with easy, unstudied grace, aristocrat in every line of her.
"Let me down?" she repeated. "No, of course you didn't. I tell you what, you kids, you played up like heroes, and the house ought to be jolly proud of you. Kitty and Bertha were as good as the school backs any day, while Peggy's run got us the first goal, and France rose to the occasion nobly at the last one. Anyway, you've given the old place the shock of its life." She smiled at them with eyes that had grown suddenly brilliant, and for the moment everyone, even Kitty, forgot all about the Richoter and all that had happened the previous term.
"But it was you who scored the goals," said Peggy, honestly.
"Of course," returned Duane, lightly. "Didn't I tell you that was my one particular forte. Wait tell our next house match and we'll see what we can do then."
She pushed open the door and led the way out, France remarking that Miss Carslake could hardly row them for being a few minutes late for once, after the glory they had brought upon the house.
The next day, Wednesday, being half-holiday, Miss Carslake had arranged to take some of the girls on a cycling expedition to the downs, where recent excavations had disclosed traces of both early Celtic and later Roman habitation. The house mistress, who took the senior history classes in the school, was apt to wax enthusiastic over neolithic remains or mediæval architecture, and during the summer months organized many walking or cycling expeditions to see a prehistoric barrow on the downs, or a little village church with a Norman chancel, or an architectural curiosity such as a low side window or a hagioscope.
Some twelve or fifteen girls had given in their names to the head prefect as desirous of going. Duane was in her study that evening, making out this list, when there came a timid tap on the door and Erica Salter entered.
"Hallo! What is it?" inquired Duane, glancing up. "You, Erica! What's up?"
"Nothing," said Erica. "That is—" She glanced at Kitty, who was also in the room writing letters, but there was evidently nothing to be afraid of from that quarter, and Erica continued, "That is to say, I—I want you to ask Miss Carslake if I can come to-morrow to Stretton Downs, Duane."
"You! 'Fraid not, Erica. You're too small."