Christmas holidays. For some reason she was evidently much out of favour. She tapped more deferentially at the study door, and entered less confidently than she had done on the morning after her arrival. A term at Briarcroft had taught her many lessons. The Principal was seated at her desk, studying an account book, and to judge from the jerking movements of her mouth, she was in a state of mind quite the reverse of amiable.
"Gipsy Latimer," she began uncompromisingly, "I've sent for you to enquire if you've heard anything at all from your father?"
Gipsy shook her head silently. It was such a sore subject that she could hardly bear to speak about it.
"It's a most extraordinary thing!" commented Miss Poppleton. "Since the day he left you here, he has never written a line either to me or to you. I don't like the look of it at all. Did he tell you where he was going?"
"Back to Cape Town," replied Gipsy briefly.
"Did he leave you any address?"
"No; he said he would be going up-country into a very wild place, but he would write when he got to the Cape."
"Has he any friends at Cape Town who would know of his whereabouts?"
"Not that I know of."
The barometer of Miss Poppleton's face seemed to fall still lower.
"This won't do at all!" she said, frowning. "When your father brought you, he paid for you up to Christ-
