She had known it all the time, but she would not acknowledge it even to her innermost heart.

Was this what was required from a Torch-bearer--to pass on her own refinement and culture to a girl whose crudities offended every particle of her fastidious taste?
Ulyth sat down on a stone and wept hot, bitter, rebellious tears.
She understood only too well why she had been so miserable for the last three days.

She had disliked Miss Bowes for hinting that she was not keeping her word, and had told herself that she was a much-tried and ill-used person.
"I must do it, I must, or fail at the very beginning!" she sobbed.

"I know what Mother would say.

It's got to be; if for nothing else, for the sake of the school.