13 A Plot—and a Quarrel
Before that week had ended Darrell was ready with the whole pantomime, words and all. Most of the music had been written, because Irene almost snatched the words from Darrell as she finished them.
“Quite a Gilbert and Sullivan,” said Moira, rather sneeringly¹, speaking of the famous comic opera pair of the last century. She was feeling rather out of things. Until the pantomime was written, she could not produce it, so she had nothing to do at the moment. And Moira disliked having nothing to do. She liked running things, organizing things and people, dominating everyone, laying down the law.
She was not a popular head-girl. The fifth-formers resented her dictatorial² manner. They disliked her lack of humour, and they took as little notice of her as they could.
Moira chafed³ under all this. “Do buck⁴ up with this pantomime, Darrell and Sally,” she said. “I wish I’d undertaken to write it myself now, you’re so slow.”
“You couldn’t write it,” said Darrell. “You know you couldn’t. You hardly ever get good marks for composition.”
Moira flushed. “Don’t be cheeky,” she said.
Catherine spoke⁵ up for her, using a sweet and gentle voice. “I’m sure Moira only let you and Sally do it to give you a chance,” she said. “I’m sure she could have done it very well herself.”
“There speaks our blessed martyr⁶, Saint Catherine,” put in Alicia, maliciously⁷. “Dear Saint Catherine. She deserves the halo Belinda gave her, doesn’t she, girls?”
Catherine frowned. Belinda called out at once. “Hold it, Catherine, hold it! No, don’t smile in that sickly sweet manner, let me have that frown again!”
Catherine turned away. It was too bad that she should be laughed at when all the time she was trying to be kind and self-sacrificing and really good, poor Catherine thought to herself. She glanced at the wall. Blow! There was yet another picture of her up there, with a bigger halo than ever!

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