"It's writing the translation under the words in the book," explained Elsie Martin, who, coming up at the moment, had heard Genevieve's question.
"It's just plain cheating—and it's horrid," declared Cordelia, with emphasis.
Genevieve's face turned a sudden, painful red, for some unapparent reason.
"Y-yes, it must be," she murmured faintly, as she turned to go.
On the walk home that noon, Harold, as was frequently the case, overtook her.
"Well, what part of the world would you like changed to-day?" he asked, with a smiling glance at her frowning face.
"Chiefly, I reckon I'd like no school," sighed Genevieve; "but if I can't have that, I'd like another box of teachers opened so we could have a new one."
"What's the trouble now?"
"Oh, I reckon the trouble is with me," admitted Genevieve, ruefully. "Anyhow, Miss Jane would say it was. I flunked in Cæsar—but that's no reason why Miss Hart should have been so disagreeable! But then, I suppose she has to be. She came out of that kind of a box, you know."
Harold laughed, though a little gravely.