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“How splendid!” cried Cecil, with sparkling eyes. “And the situation, Miss Arbuthnot?”

“Oh—ah—the situation. Of course that is the chief thing, after all. Well, you and I are to meet the lady and gentleman at Daridge’s Hotel to-morrow, and lunch with them afterwards.”

“Oh, then it is a private family?” asked Cecil.

“Private? Oh, well—yes. Not a school at all.”

Miss Arbuthnot seemed not to wish to say anything more, but presently she began to question Cecil as to her dress for the evening, betraying a solicitude as to her appearance which surprised the girl.

“Of course, I ought to have told you to bring your best evening gown,” she said, “but I never thought of it, and it would have been rather awkward to mention it in a telegram. What have you? the black velvet with your mother’s lace? It is rather old for you, but after all that is no drawback. You see, Cecil,” smiling at her pupil’s puzzled face, “we are all very proud of you. You have done the School great credit, and I should not wonder if you were to find yourself a little bit of a celebrity in a small way to-night. So you see why I want you to look well, that you may uphold the honour of the South Central.”