"Why, Monica, old thing—how are you? I never saw you hidden away in there. Finished your unpacking? Then come along and talk to me while I do mine." And the head girl slipped her arm round Monica Deane and led her away. These two were great friends, out-of-school companions as well as form-mates, although pretty, vivacious Muriel Paget, brilliant at games and gymnastics as well as at lessons, was a great contrast to Monica, who, although studious enough, was painstaking and plodding rather than brilliant; and although keen and reliable at all sorts of games, would never make much of a mark at them.
Phyllis Tressider remained staring rather sulkily at the new owner of Number Thirteen, who, deprived of the comforting protection of the head girl, was growing momentarily more and more nervous under the hostile scrutiny. However, there came another interruption almost immediately, this time in the person of an astonishingly pretty person who flung herself effusively into Phyllis's arms, to be greeted with a delighted:
"Hullo, Dorothy, old dear! I am glad to see you again!"
For a few moments Phyllis's attention was diverted from the new girl. But she was soon recalled to a remembrance of her grievance by Dorothy's exclamation of surprise at seeing the occupant of her one-time domain.
"Hullo! What's up? Aren't I to be in Number Thirteen this term?"
"No. Isn't it a shame?" responded Phyllis, her disgust returning. "You're ever so far away—in Number Twenty-Nine, Monica says. This wretched new kid has got your cubicle. I do think it's mean of Sister to go turning you out!"
Dorothy's face fell considerably.
"Oh, I say, that's too bad! Why, I've been in Number Thirteen for ages and ages. Can't we get the new kid to change? Sister would never remember. Here, I say, you, what's your name?" addressing the shy and miserable occupant of Number Thirteen.
The new girl flushed hotly with embarrassment at this brusque mode of address. But she answered the question politely enough. Indeed, she was far too scared to do anything else—to her, discretion, in this case at least, appeared to be decidedly the better part of valour.
"Geraldine Wilmott," she said, under her breath.