Annie had always been the soul of disorder--of wild pranks, of naughty and disobedient deeds--but, hitherto, in all her wildness she had never intentionally hurt any one but herself. Hers was a giddy and thoughtless, but by no means a bitter tongue--she thought well of all her schoolfellows--and on occasions she could be self-sacrificing and good-natured to a remarkable extent. The girls of the head class took very little notice of Annie, but her other school companions, as a rule, succumbed to her sunny, bright, and witty ways. She offended them a hundred times a day, and a hundred times a day was forgiven. Hester was the first girl in the third class who had ever persistently disliked Annie, and Annie, after making one or two overtures of friendship, began to return Miss Thornton's aversion; but she had never cordially hated her until the day they met in Cecil Temple's drawing-room, and Hester had wounded Annie in her tenderest part by doubting her affection for Mrs. Willis.