Free Third Year at Malory Towers by Enid Blyton Page B

top of the radiators.
    “You should rush about a bit more in gym or on the lacrosse field,” said Darrell, whose face was a rosy-pink with good health and happiness. She had gone out to the field every moment she could spare to have coaching from Molly. She was getting very good! She knew she was. Molly had praised her catching and said it was excellent.
    Gwendoline looked at Darrell with her usual scowl. She really felt miserable in the cold weather, for she came from an overheated home and could not get used to the fresh-air atmosphere of school. It annoyed her to see Darrell without a single chilblain, and to watch her race out happily into the frosty air for her lacrosse practice.
    Belinda came slipping up behind Gwendoline, who was quite unaware that she was scowling. Belinda's quick pencil set to work. Mavis nudged Gwen.
    “Look out? Here's Belinda again!”
    Gwen turned round quickly, trying to smooth the scowl off her face—but it was difficult to feel angry and yet not scowl!
    “Go away, Belinda! I don't want you to draw me!” she said, peevishly. “I wish you'd leave me alone. I hate the way you come slinking up-—I call it really sly.”
    “Oh no!” said Belinda. “I'm just interested in you, that's all. You have such a lovely scowl—the ugliest in the whole school, I should think. Do, do scowl, Gwen, and let me draw it.”
    Gwen stopped herself from scowling, but it was a very great effort. Belinda grinned.
    “Poor Gwendoline Mary—so annoyed, that it makes her want to scowl more fiercely than ever—but she won't! Well, never mind—I'll watch for the next time.”
    She went away, and everyone laughed. Gwen's eyes filled with easy tears. She could always cry at any moment. How hateful Belinda was. Gwen thought she really must go and scowl at herself in the mirror, then she would see what was so unique about it. It probably was no worse a scowl than Mavis's or Bill's—but that horrid Belinda thought it was a fine way to tease her.
    Darrell came in after her lacrosse practice, glowing and beaming. “I say, girls! What do you think? I may be a reserve for the third match-team! Only the third reserve—but it's something!”
    “What's a reserve?” asked Zerelda, thinking it must be something marvellous, judging by Darrell's shining eyes.
    “Well—if three girls fall out from the next match-team, I'd take the place of the third one,” explained Darrell.
    “Third reserves never play,” remarked Alicia. “Everybody knows that. So don't hope too much, Darrell.”
    “I'm not,” said Darrell. “Alicia, I do wish you would get a bit of coaching too. Molly's tine—takes no end of trouble.”
    “That fat, clumsy Molly!” murmured Zerelda, in her lazy drawl. “Gee—I just can't bear to look at her!”
    It was silly of Zerelda to say things like that. It made Darrell and Jean and the rest of the keen lacrosse players annoyed. What did it matter what Molly looked like? She was a splendid games captain, and had won more matches than had been won for years by Malory Towers!
    “She may be fat, but she's not clumsy—she's a fast runner and very powerful,” said Darrell, stoutly.
    “I'll say she is!” said Zerelda. “I met her running down the stairs the other day, and I thought there was an earthquake coming. But it was only her great feet pounding on the stairs.
    You can keep your Mollies! I don't want them. All brawn and no brains or charm!”
    “And you, I suppose, are all charm, and no brains?” said Alicia's smooth, malicious voice. “How nice! Well, America can keep their Zereldas. They're not much good here!”
    Zerelda flushed scarlet and bit her lip. The others held their breath, expecting an outburst. But it didn't come.
    “I guess I asked for that,” said Zerelda, stiffly, and she got up. She said no more, but went out of the room as gracefully as ever.
    Nobody said anything. They felt uncomfortable. It wasn't right to taunt a girl when they had all decided to be nice to her—but