"Phyllis Tressider?"
"None."
And so on throughout the whole form, right down to Gerry Wilmott, whose name as the last comer was placed last upon the list. Muriel made no comment upon the scandalous result, but called for the marks for algebra. Once again the same comedy was enacted. Then came the good marks obtained from Mademoiselle, and then the last class for literature. Muriel did not ask any questions respecting these.
"You have none of you any marks for literature," she said. "Any bad marks to give in?"
There were several, and the head girl's eyebrows went up as she put them down.
"Is that all?" she asked sarcastically, when at last she had disposed of all the upraised hands. Then she closed the mark-book and prepared to descend from the high desk.
"I hope you are pleased with your morning's work," she said, and went out of the room, leaving a somewhat discomfited Lower Fifth behind her.
"I say! The fat is in the fire if all the Sixth know about it!" said Dorothy uncomfortably.
"What a perfectly, beastly mean sneak that Miss Burton is!" exclaimed Phyllis.
"Well, all I can say is, we shall have to make things so beastly uncomfortable for her that she'll just have to go!" said Jack vindictively. Then she relapsed into a rather sheepish grin. "At any rate, it is to be hoped that we shall," she said. "For we've certainly succeeded in making things beastly uncomfortable for ourselves."