Jane and the Chalet School

Jack Lambert was in a tearing rage. She stumped along the corridor from Matron’s room, her mouth a straight line, her black eyes sparkling with a reddish light, even her boy’s crop of straight hair crisping with her fury.“What’s biting her?” demanded Barbara Hewlett, prefect of Lower IVb, the form both she and Jack adorned. “She can’t have got into a row already? We haven’t been back at school for more than two minutes.”“But ask her, my Barbara,” advised Corinne Sambeau, another member of the form. “Then you will know, n’est-ce pas?”“Ask her yourself!” Barbara retorted. “She might just as well bite you as me.”Corinne laughed. “But not me, I do not wish une brouille. Sans doute, c’est mieux que l’on ne dit rien.”“How true! Say nothing it is,” Barbara assented. “Come on, Corinne! We’d better unpack our night-cases before Matey arrives.”