The book of American gems was in its usual place on the shelf.

The temptation was irresistible.

Ulyth did not notice, as she was taking it down, that someone with a smooth head of sleek fair hair was peeping round the corner of the door, and that a pair of not too friendly blue eyes were watching the deed.

If flying footsteps whisked along the corridor and out into the garden, she was blissfully unconscious of the fact.

She took the volume to her own form-room and settled herself at her desk with her drawing materials, cardboard, pencil, india-rubber, fine pen, and a bottle of Indian ink.