book," she advised. "I believe Leonora would be capable of countermanding the order if she knew the amount of the bill. It will be a surprise for her later on."
"And a ripping joke for us!"
"It's Miss Lindsay's fault, though. She named the edition."
"Oh, yes, of course! We understand that, my dear girl!"
The presents arrived by return of post, just in time for Miss Edith's birthday—a splendid blotter of delicious-smelling leather, and the edition of Christina Rossetti's poems, a large and handsome volume full of beautiful illustrations. Miss Lindsay brought them into the Juniors' sitting-room, and showed them to the delighted girls.
"It was so nice of you, Leonora dear, to think of giving such a lovely gift to Miss Edith all on your own account," she remarked; "so thoughtful to have fixed upon the very thing she wanted. You meant this edition, of course? I knew I could hardly be mistaken. Miss Edith will be particularly pleased that a new girl should show such appreciation. The pictures are perfect gems. We'll wrap the book up again in its various papers, and you must hide it carefully away until to-morrow. Would you like to give me the fifteen shillings now, or will Miss Poppleton stop it out of your allowance?"
Leonora's face was a study. Blank amazement struggled with disgust, and for a moment she seemed almost tempted to deny all responsibility for having
