sat at the table, intensely self-conscious and rather miserable, yet listening with interest to the conversation of the girls round her. They all spoke very loudly, and the noise seemed to her bewildering. Not much less bewildering than the manner was the matter of their speech.
"I say, Mollie, what a noise you were making in the infirmary passage this afternoon! I heard you." "I wasn't!"
"Well, someone was. I heard them." "It was Kathleen, I expect."
"No, it wasn't!" screamed Kathleen from farther down the table.
"Oh yes, it was," cried the first speaker and the girl called Mollie, together.
"Well, it just wasn't, then! Nobody would dare make a noise in the infirmary passage—not even me."
The others laughed.
"Even Kathleen wouldn't dare to make a noise in the infirmary passage," cried Mollie. "Did you hear that, Mary McNeill?"
"Well, I should hope not, just outside Mother Rose's door," said her neighbour, a placid-looking girl with a blue ribbon over her shoulders.
"Mary McNeill's blushing," sang out the girl next to Zella.
"What about?" asked someone else. "Oh, about Mother Rose, of course. Need you ask, my dear?"
"I'm not," declared Mary, giggling. "Yes, you are."
The prolonged laughter that followed seemed to Zella inane to a degree. She thought her future companions common and ill-bred, and noted with disgust the red and chillained hands of her neighbours.
The only pretty girl at the table was the one called Kathleen, a slight, dark-haired girl with merry Irish eyes.
Zella saw her push away her plate presently, still half filled with meat and underdone potato.
"I can't eat this stuff," Zella heard her mutter to her neighbour.
Go on, Kathleen, you must. You'll only have old Rose down on you." "I don't care." "Sister will make you eat it."
"No, she won't, not if I coax her. She never tells on one, she's a little duck. That's what it is to be Irish."
"The conceit of some people!"
They both laughed a good deal more than the sally seemed to warrant.
"All the same, you'll be ill if you don't eat, Kathleen," said the neighbour solicitously. ." No, I shan't."
"Yes, you will. I tell you what, I shall tell Mother Pauline you're not eating anything." "Yourre not to." "Yes, I shall."
"I simply won't have her told. Besides, she wouldn't care. She hates me."
"Of course she doesn't; only, you know, she's not supposed to encourage you to run after her. I can't think why you want to."
"Oh, she's awfully sweet, when you know her. I adore the way she looks up through her glasses at one, you know."
"Well, I shall tell her you won't eat." "No, you're not to. I won't have it." "I shall."
"Well," said Kathleen, in an extremely gratified tone, "I shall be simply furious if you do, that's all."
Zella felt more contemptuous than ever, but at the same time she was annoyed that none of her future companions had as yet taken any notice of her, beyond. staring at her. Presently, however, the girl next Zella, a girl of about her own age, with a face that Zella mentally qualified as bold-looking and common, turned to her, and asked, though with no great appearance of being interested in the reply:
"Is this the first time you've been to school?" "Yes," said Zella, furious at feeling herself flush scarlet.
"Poor thing! you'll hate it at first," remarked her neighbour, her eyes, even as she spoke, roving restlessly over the table in search of something.
Zella could think of no rejoinder, but, anxious not to fall back into her former state of silent isolation, she timidly pushed forward a plate of bread.
"Is that what you want?" she asked, in tones that even to her own ears sounded curiously clear and childish amongst the shrill-toned gabble around her.
One or two of the girls opposite looked at her, and then exchanged glances.
"Bright kid!" said her neighbour approvingly. "Tell you what," she added, with a mischievous expression and a side-glance to see if her wit would be appreciated by the girls nearest her, "wouldn't you like to get up, and go to that cupboard there at the very end of the room, and look and see if you can find a knife, and bring it here. Mine's dirty, and I want a clean one!"
She concluded with a suppressed titter, in which one or two of the girls joined. The one called Mary McNeill said, "Dorothy! shut up!" in a reproving voice, but they all looked curiously at Zella.
But Zella, though she again changed colour, was acute enough to recognize the type of girl to which Dorothy belonged, and replied with spirit, although she could scarcely command her voice:
"No, thank you. I haven't come here as knife-boy."
It was her first attempt at schoolgirl repartee, and met with instant success.
Dorothy herself laughed loudly and said, "Jolly good answer!" and Mary McNeill, who seemed to be the eldest girl in the vicinity, with some sort of authority over the others, turned to Zella and said?
"Don't you mind Dorothy Brady. She always talks a lot of nonsense, but it's a shame to try it on a new girl. Haven't you ever been to school before?"
"No," said Zella very low, wondering if she should get through the meal without disgracing herself by crying.
"You'll soon get used to it," said Mary comfortably. "We all love it here."
Zella noted with relief that Mary expressed no surprise at Zella's lack of school experience.
"The nuns are awfully nice—perfect angels some of them."
"They look very sweet and gentle," said Zella, who had frequently heard these adjectives applied en bloc to the inmates of religious houses and supposed them to be universally applicable to anyone wearing a veil and habit.
"Well, I don't know about that," replied Mary, giggling; "some of them are frightfully strict, and one or two of awfully nice, really."
"I've never known any nuns before," volunteered Zella. "You see, I'm not a Catholic."
If she had expected her announcement to create any interest of a complimentary description, Zella was doomed to disappointment.
"Are you a Protestant?" asked Mary, with a disapproving inflexion in her voice.
'I suppose so," replied Zella, anxious to create the impression of one broad-minded enough to be bound by no narrow particular creed.
"Suppose so! You must know what you are."
"I don't really belong to any very special sect," faltered Zella, conscious that she was not producing a favourable impression.
