“Do you call the Vivians common-looking girls?” was Martha West’s response.
“Of course I do, and even worse. Why, judging from their dress, they might have come out of a laborer’s cottage.”
“Granted,” replied Martha; “but then,” she added, “they have something else, each of them, better than dress.”
“Oh, if you begin to talk in enigmas I for one shall cease to be your friend,” answered Sibyl. “What have they got that is so wonderful?”
“It was born in them,” replied Martha. “If you can’t see it for yourself, Sibyl, I am not able to show it to you.”
Mrs. Haddo took the girls to London and gave them a very good day. It is true they spent a time which seemed intolerably long to Betty in having pretty white blouses and smartly made skirts and neat little jackets fitted on. They spent a still more intolerable time at the dressmaker’s in being measured for soft, pretty evening-dresses. They went to a hairdresser, who cut their very thick hair and tied it with broad black ribbon. They next went to a milliner and had several hats tried on. They went to a sort of all-round shop, where they bought gloves, boots, and handkerchiefs innumerable, and some very soft black cashmere and even black silk stockings. Oh, buttheydidn’t care; they thought the whole time wasted. Nevertheless they submitted, and with a certain grace; for was not the precious packet safe—so safe that no one could possibly discover its whereabouts? And was not Betty feeling her queer, sensitive heart expanding more and more under Mrs. Haddo’s kind influence?
“Now, my dears,” said that good lady, “we will go back to Miss Watts the dressmaker at three o clock; but we have still two hours to spare. During that time we’ll have a little lunch, for I am sure you must be hungry; and afterwards I will take you to the Wallace Collection, which I think you will enjoy.”
“What’s a collection?” asked Sylvia.
“There are some rooms not far from here where beautiful things are collected—pictures and other lovely things of all sorts and descriptions. I think that you, at least, Betty, will love to look at them.”
Betty afterwards felt, deep down in her heart, that this whole day was a wonderful dream. She was starvingly hungry, to begin with, and enjoyed the excellent lunch that Mrs. Haddo ordered at the confectioners. She felt a sense of curious joy and fear as she looked at one or two of the great pictures in the Wallace Collection, and so excited and uplifted was she altogether that she scarcely noticed when they returned to the shops and the coarse, ugly black serges were exchanged for pretty coats and skirts of the finest cloth, for neat little white blouses, for pretty shoes and fine stockings. She did not even object to the hat, which, with its plume of feathers, gave a look of distinction to her little face. She was not elated over her fine clothes, neither was she annoyed about them.
“Now, Miss Watts,” said Mrs. Haddo in a cheerful tone, “you will hurry with the rest of the young ladies’ things, and send them to me as soon as ever you can. I shall want their evening-dresses, without fail, by the beginning of next week.”
They all went down into the street. Sylvia found herself casting shy glances at Betty. It seemed to her that her sister was changed—that she scarcely knew her. Dress did not make such a marked difference in Hetty’s appearance; but Hetty too looked a different girl.
“And now we are going to the Zoological Gardens,” said Mrs. Haddo, “where we may find some spiders like Dickie, and where you will see all sorts of wonderful creatures.”
“Oh Mrs. Haddo!” exclaimed Betty.
They spent an hour or two in that place so fascinating for children, and arrived back at Haddo Court just in time for supper.
“We have had a happy day, have we not?” said Mrs. Haddo, looking into Betty’s face and observing the brightness of her eyes.
“Very happy, and it was you who gave it to us,” answered the girl.
“And to-morrow,” continued Mrs. Haddo, “must be just as happy—just as happy—because lessons will begin; and to an intelligent and clever girl there is nothing in the world so delightful as a difficulty conquered and knowledge acquired.”
That evening, when the Vivian girls entered the room where supper was served, every girl in the upper school turned to look at them. The change in their appearance was at once complete and arresting. They walked well by nature. They were finely made girls, and had not a scrap of self-consciousness.
“Oh, I say, Fan,” whispered Susie in her dear friend’s ear, “your cousins will boss the whole school if this sort of thing goes on. To be frank with you, Fan, I have fallen in love with that magnificent Betty myself. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”
“You ought not to whisper in English, ought you?”was Fanny’s very significant response, uttered in the German tongue.
Susie shrugged her shoulders. The Specialities generally sat close to each other; and she looked down the table now, and saw that Margaret, and the Bertrams, and Olive Repton were equally absorbed in watching the Vivian girls. Nothing more was said about them, however; and when the meal came to an end Miss Symes took them away with her, to give them brief directions with regard to their work for the morrow. She also supplied them with a number of new books, which Betty received with rapture, for she adored reading, and hitherto had hardly been able to indulge in it. Miss Symes tried to explain to the girls something of the school routine; and she showed each girl her own special desk in the great schoolroom, where she could keep her school-books, and her different papers, pens, pencils, ink, etc.
“I cannot tell until to-morrow what forms you will be in, my dears; but I think Betty will probably have a good deal to do with me in her daily tuition; whereas you, Sylvia, and you, Hester, will be under the charge of Miss Oxley. I must introduce you to Miss Oxley to-morrow morning. And now you would like, I am sure, to go to bed. Mrs. Haddo says that you needn’t attend prayers to-night, for you have had a long and tiring day; so you may go at once to your room.”
The girls thanked Miss Symes, and went. They heard voices busily conversing in Fanny’s room—eager voices, joined to occasional peals of merry laughter. But they were too tired, too sleepy, and, it may be added, too happy, to worry themselves much over these matters. They were very quickly in bed and sound asleep.
Meanwhile Fanny was much enjoying the unstinted praise which her friends were bestowing on the beautiful tea-set which her father had given her.
“Oh, but it is perfectly lovely!” exclaimed Olive. “Why, Fan, you are in luck; it’s real old Crown Derby!”
“Yes,” said Fanny; “I thought it was. Whenever father does a thing he does it well.”
“We’ll be almost afraid to drink out of it, Fanny!” exclaimed Julia Bertram. “Fancy, if I were to drop one of those little jewels of cups! Don’t the colors just sparkle on them! Oh, if I were to drop it, and it got broken, I don’t think I’d ever hold up my head again!”
“Well, dear Julia, don’t drop it,” said Fanny, “and then you will feel all right.”
Cocoa was already prepared; the rich cake graced the center of the board; the chocolate creams were certainly in evidence; and the girls clustered round, laughing and talking. Fanny was determined to choke back that feeling of uneasiness which had worried her during the whole of that day. She could not tell the Specialities what her cousins had done; she could not—she would not. There must be a secret between them. She who belonged to a society of whom each member had to vow not to have a secret from any other member, was about to break her vow.
The girls were in high spirits to-night, and in no mood to talk “sobersides,” as Mary Bertram sometimes called their graver discussions.
But when the little meal of cocoa and cake had come to an end, Margaret said, “I want to make a proposal.”
“Hush! hush! Let the oracle speak!” cried Olive, her pretty face beaming with mirth.
“Oh Olive, don’t be so ridiculous!” said Margaret. “You know perfectly well I am no oracle; but I have a notion in my head. It is this: why should not those splendid-looking girls, the Vivians, join the Specialities? They did look rather funny, I will admit, yesterday; but even then one could see that clothes matter little or nothing to them. But now that they’re dressed like the rest of us,they give distinction to the whole school. I don’t think I ever saw a face like Betty’s. Fan, you, of course, will second my proposal that Betty Vivian, even if her sisters are too young, should be asked to become a Speciality?”
Fanny felt that she was turning very pale. Susie Rushworth gazed at her in some wonder.
“I propose,” exclaimed Margaret Grant, “that Miss Betty Vivian shall be invited to join our society and to become a Speciality. I further propose that we ask her to join our next meeting, which takes place this day week, and is, by the way, held in my room. Now, who will second my suggestion?”
“You will, of course, Fan,” said Susie. “Betty is your cousin, so you are the right person to second Margaret’s wish.”
Fanny’s face grew yet paler. After a minute she said, “Just because Betty is my cousin I would rather some one else seconded Margaret Grant’s proposal.”
All the girls looked at her in astonishment.
“Very well; I second it,” responded Susie.
“Girls,” said Margaret, “will you all agree? Those who donotagree, please keep their hands down. Those whodoagree, please hold up hands. Now, then, is Betty Vivian to be invited to join the Specialities? Which has it—the ‘ayes’ or the ‘noes’?”
All the girls’ hands, with one exception, were eagerly raised in favor of Betty Vivian. Fanny sat very still, her hands locked one inside the other in her lap. Something in her attitude and in the expression of her face caused each of her companions to gaze at her in extreme wonder.
“Why, Fanny, what is the meaning of this?” asked Margaret.
“I cannot explain myself,” said Fanny.
“Cannot—and you a Speciality! Don’t you know that we have no secrets from one another?”
“That is true,” said Fanny, speaking with a great effort.“Well, then, I will explain myself. I would rather Betty Vivian did not join our club.”
“But why, dear—why?”
“Yes, Fanny, why?” echoed Susie.
“What ridiculous nonsense you are talking!” cried Olive Repton.
“The most striking-looking girl I ever saw!” said Julia Bertram. “Why, Fan, what is your reason for this?”
“Call it jealousy if you like,” said Fanny; “call it any name under the sun, only don’t worry me about it.”
As she spoke she rose deliberately and left the room, her companions looking after her in amazement.
“What does this mean?” said Julia.
“I can’t understand it a bit,” said Margaret. Then she added after a pause, “I suppose, girls, you fully recognize that the Speciality Club is supposed to be a club without prejudice or favor, and that, as the ‘ayes’ have carried the day, Miss Betty Vivian is to be invited to join?”
“Of course she must be invited to join,” replied Susie; “but it is very unpleasant all the same. I cannot make out what can ail Fanny Crawford. She hasn’t been a bit herself since those girls arrived.”
The Specialities chatted a little longer together, but the meeting was not convivial. Fanny’s absence prevented its being so; and very soon the girls broke up, leaving the pretty cups and saucers and the remains of the feast behind them. The chapel bell rang for prayers, and they all trooped in. But Fanny Crawford was not present. This, in itself, was almost without precedent, for girls were not allowed to miss prayers without leave.
As each Speciality laid her head on her pillow that night she could not but reflect on Fanny’s strange behavior, and wondered much what it meant. As to Fanny herself, she lay awake for hours. Some of the girls and some of the mistresses thought that she was grieving for her father; but, as a matter of fact, she was not eventhinking of him. Every thought of her mind was concentrated on what she called her present dilemma. It was almost morning before the tired girl fell asleep.
At half-past six on the following day the great gong sounded through the entire upper school. Betty started up in some amazement, her sisters in some alarm.
By-and-by a kind-looking woman, dressed as a sort of housekeeper or upper servant, entered the room. “Can I help you to dress, young ladies?” she said.
The girls replied in the negative. They had always dressed themselves.
“Very well,” replied the woman. “Then I will come to fetch you in half-an-hour’s time, so that you will be ready for prayers in chapel.”
Perhaps Betty Vivian never, as long as she lived, forgot that first day when she stood with her sisters in the beautiful little chapel and heard the Reverend Edmund Fairfax read prayers. He was a delicate, refined-looking man, with a very intellectual face and a beautiful voice. Mrs. Haddo had begged of him to accept the post of private chaplain to her great school for many reasons. First, because his health was delicate; second, because she knew she could pay him well; and also, for the greatest reason of all, because she was quite sure that Mr. Fairfax could help her girls in moments of difficulty in their spiritual life, should such moments arise.
Prayers came to an end; breakfast came to an end. The Vivians passed a very brisk examination with some credit. As Miss Symes had predicted, Betty was put into her special form, in which form Susie Rushworth and Fanny Crawford also had their places. The younger Vivians were allowed to remain in the upper school, but were in much lower forms. Betty took to her work as happily (to use a well-known expression) as a duck takes to water. Her eyes were bright with intelligence while she listenedto Miss Symes, who could teach so charmingly and could impart knowledge in such an attractive way.
In the middle of the morning there was the usual brief period when the girls might go out and amuse themselves for a short time. Betty wanted to find her sisters; but before she could attempt to seek for them she felt a hand laid on her arm, and, glancing round, saw that Fanny Crawford was by her side.
“Betty,” said Fanny, “I want to speak to you, and at once. We have only a very few minutes; will you, please, listen?”
“Is it really important?” asked Betty. “For, if it is not, I do want to say something to Sylvia. She forgot to give Dickie his raw meat this morning.”
“Oh, aren’t you just hopeless!” exclaimed Fanny. “You think of that terrible spider when—when——Oh, I don’t know what to make of you!”
“And I don’t know what to make of you, Fanny!” retorted Betty. “What are you excited about? What is the matter?”
“Listen!—do listen!” said Fanny.
“Well, I am listening; but you really must be quick in getting out whatever’s troubling you.”
“You have heard of the Specialities, haven’t you?” said Fanny.
“Good gracious, no!” exclaimed Betty. “The Specialities—what are they?”
“There is nothingwhatabout them. They are people—girls; they are not things.”
“Oh, girls! What a funny name to give girls! I haven’t heard of them, Fanny.”
“You won’t be long at Haddo Court without hearing a great deal about them,” remarked Fanny. “I am one, and so is Susie Rushworth, and so are the Bertrams, and so is that handsome girl Margaret Grant. You musthave noticed her; she is so dark and tall and stately. And so, also, is dear little Olive Repton——”
“And so is—and so is—and so is—” laughed Betty, putting on her most quizzical manner.
“You must listen to me. The Specialities—oh, they’re not like any other girls in the school, and it’s the greatest honor in the world to be asked to belong to them. Betty, it’s this way. Margaret Grant is the sort of captain of the club—I don’t know how to express it exactly; but she is our head, our chief—and she has taken a fancy to you; and last night we had a meeting in my bedroom——”
“Oh, that was what the row was about!” exclaimed Betty. “If we hadn’t been hearty sleepers and girls straight from the Scotch moors, you would have given us a very bad night.”
“Never mind about that. Margaret Grant proposed last night that you should be asked to join.”
“Iasked to join?”
“Yes, you, Betty. Doesn’t it sound absurd? And they all voted for you—every one of them, with the exception of myself.”
“And it’s a great honor, isn’t it?” said Betty, speaking very quietly.
“Oh yes—immense.”
“Then, of course, you wouldn’t vote—would you, dear little Fan?”
“Don’t talk like that! We shall be returning to the schoolroom in a few minutes, and Margaret is sure to talk to you after dinner. You are elected by the majority, and you are to be invited to attend the next meeting. But I want you to refuse—yes, I do, Betty; for you can’t join—you know you can’t. With that awful, awful lie on your conscience, you can’t be a Speciality. I shall go wild with misery if you join. Betty, you must say you won’t.”
Betty looked very scornfully at Fanny. “There are some people in the world,” she said, “who make me feelvery wicked, and I am greatly afraid you are one. Now, let me tell you plainly and frankly that if you had said nothing I should probably not have wished to become that extraordinary thing, a Speciality; but because you are in such a mortal funk I shall join your club with the utmost pleasure. So now you know.”
Betty was true to her word. After school that day, Margaret Grant and Olive Repton came up to her and asked her in a very pretty manner if she would become a member of their Speciality Club.
“Of course,” said Margret, “you don’t know anything about us or our rules at present; but we think we should like you to join, so we are here now to invite you to come to our next meeting, which will take place on Thursday of next week, at eight o’clock precisely, in my bedroom.”
“I don’t know where your bedroom is,” said Betty.
“But I know where yours is!” exclaimed Olive; “so I will fetch you, Betty, and bring you to Margaret’s room. Oh, I am sure you will enjoy it—we have such fun! Sometimes we give quite big entertainments—that is, when we invite the other girls, which we do once or twice during the term. By the way, that reminds me that you will be most useful in that respect, for you and your sisters have the largest bedroom in the house. You will, of course, lend us your room when your turn comes; but that is a long way off.”
“I am so glad you are coming!” said Margaret. “You are the sort of girl we want in our club. And now, please, tell me about your life in Scotland.”
“I will with pleasure,” replied Betty. She looked full up into Margaret’s face as she spoke.
Margaret was older than Betty, and taller; and there was something about her which commanded universal respect.
“I don’t mind telling you,” said Betty—“nor you,” she added as Olive’s dancing blue eyes met hers; “for a kind of intuition tells me that you would both love my wild moors and my beautiful heather. Oh, I say, do come, both of you, and see our three little plots of garden! There’s Sylvia’s plot, and Hester’s, and mine; and we have a plant of heather, straight from Craigie Muir, in the midst of each. Our gardens are quite bare except for that tiny plant. Do,docome and see it!”
Margaret laughed.
Olive said, “Oh, what fun!” and the three began to walk quickly under the trees in the direction of the Vivians’ gardens.
As they passed under the great oak-trees Betty looked up, and her eyes danced with fun. “Are you good at climbing trees?” she asked of Margaret.
“I used to be when I was very, very young; but those days are over.”
“There are a few very little girls in the lower school who still climb one of the safest trees,” remarked Olive.
Betty’s eyes continued to dance. “You give me delightful news,” she said. “I am so truly glad none of you do anything so vulgar as to climb trees.”
“But why, Betty?” asked Margaret.
“I have my own reasons,” replied Betty. “You can’t expect me to tell you everything right away, can you?”
“You must please yourself,” said Margaret.
Olive looked at Betty in a puzzled manner; and the three girls were silent, only that they quickened their steps, crunching down some broken twigs as they walked.
By-and-by they reached the three bare patches ofground, which were railed in in the simple manner which Mrs. Haddo had indicated, and in the center of which stood the wooden post with the words, “The Vivians’ Private Gardens,” painted on it.
“How very funny!” exclaimed Olive.
“Yes, it is rather funny,” remarked Betty. “Did you ever in the whole course of your existence see anything uglier than these three patches of ground? There is nothing whatever planted in them except our darling Scotch heather; and oh, by the way, I don’t believe the precious little plants are thriving! They are drooping like anything! Oh dear! oh dear! I think I shall die if they die!” As she spoke she flung herself on the ground, near the path.
“Of course you won’t, Betty,” said Margaret. “Besides, why should they die? They only want watering.”
“I’ll run and fetch a canful of water,” said Olive, who was extremely good-natured.
Betty made no response. She was still lying on the ground, resting on her elbows, while her hands tenderly touched the faded and drooping bells of the wild heather. She had entered her own special plot. Olive had disappeared to fetch the water, but Margaret still stood by Betty’s side.
“Do you think they’ll do?” said Betty at last, glancing at her companion.
Margaret noticed that her eyes were full of tears. “I don’t think they will,” she said after a pause. “But I’ll tell you what we must do, Betty: we must get the right sort of soil for them—just the sandy soil they want. We’ll go and consult Birchall; he is the oldest gardener in the place, and knows something about everything. For that matter, we are sure to get the sort of sand we require on this piece of waste ground—our ‘forest primeval,’ as Olive calls it.”
“Oh dear!” said Betty, dashing away the tears fromher eyes, “you are funny when you talk of a thing like that”—she waved her hand in the direction of the uncultivated land—“as a ‘forest primeval.’ It is the poorest, shabbiest bit of waste land I ever saw in my life.”
“Let’s walk across it,” said Margaret. “Olive can’t be back for a minute or two.”
“Why should we walk across it?”
“I want to show you where some heather grows. It is certainly not rich, nor deep in color, nor beautiful, like yours; but it has grown in that particular spot for two or three years. I am quite sure that Birchall will say that the soil round that heather is the right sort of earth to plant your Scotch heather in.”
“Well, come, and let’s be very quick,” said Betty.
The girls walked across the bit of common. Margaret pointed out the heather, which was certainly scanty and poor.
Betty looked at it with scorn. “I think,” she said after a pause, “I don’t want to consult Birchall.” Then she added after another pause, “I think, on the whole, I’d much rather have no heather than plants like those. You are very kind, Margaret; but there are some things that can’t be transplanted, just as there are some hearts—that break—yes, break—if you take them from home. That poor heather—once, doubtless, it was very flourishing; it is evidently dying now of a sort of consumption. Let’s come back to our plots of ground, please, Margaret.”
They did so, and were there greeted by Olive, who had a large can of cold water standing by her side, and was eagerly talking to Sylvia and Hester. Betty marched first into the center plot of ground.
“I’ve got lots of water,” said Olive in a cheerful tone, “so we’ll do the watering at once. Sylvia and Hester say that they must have a third each of this canful; but of course we can get a second can if we want it.”
“No!” said Betty.
Sylvia, who was gazing with lack-lustre eyes at the fading heather, now started and looked full at her sister. Hester, who always clung to Sylvia in moments of emotion, caught her sister’s hand and held it very tight.
“No,” said Betty again; “I have made a discovery. Scotch heather does not grow here in this airless sort of place. Sylvia and Hester, Margaret was good enough to show me what she calls heather. There are a few straggling plants just at the other side of that bit of common. I don’t want ours to die slowly. Our plants shall go at once. No, we don’t water them. Sylvia, go into your garden and pull up the plant; and, Hester, you do likewise Go, girls; go at once!”
“But, Betty——” said Margaret.
“You had better not cross her now,” said Sylvia.
Margaret started when Sylvia addressed her in this tone.
Betty’s face was painfully white, except where two spots of color blazed in each cheek. As her sisters stooped obediently to pull up their heather, Betty bent and wrenched hers from the ground by which it was surrounded, which ground was already dry and hard. “Let’s make a bonfire,” she said. “I sometimes think,” she added, “that in each little bell of heather there lives the wee-est of all the fairies; and perhaps, if we burn this poor, dear thing, the little, wee fairies may go back to their ain countree.”
“It all seems quite dreadful to me,” said Margaret.
“It is right,” replied Betty; “and I have a box of matches in my pocket.”
“Oh, have you?” exclaimed Olive. “If—if Mrs. Haddo knew——”
But Betty made no response. She set her sisters to collect some dry leaves and bits of broken twigs; and presently the bonfire was erected and kindled, and the poor heather from the north country had ceased to exist.
“Now, you must seeourgardens,” said Margaret, “foryou must have gardens, you know. Olive and I will show you the sort of things that grow in the south, that flourish here, and look beautiful.”
“I cannot see them now,” replied Betty. She brushed past Margaret, and walked rapidly across the common.
Sylvia’s face turned very white, and she clutched Hetty’s hand still more tightly.
“What is she going to do? What is the matter?” said Margaret, turning to the twins.
“She can’t help it,” said Sylvia; “she must do it. She is going to howl.”
“To do what?” said Margaret Grant.
“Howl. Did you never howl? Well, perhaps you never did. Anyhow, she must get away as far as possible before she begins, and we had better go back to the house. You wouldn’t like the sound of Betty’s howling.”
“But are you going to let her howl, as you call it, alone?”
“Let her? We have no voice in the matter,” replied Hester. “Betty always does exactly what she likes. Let’s go quickly; let’s get away. It’s the best thing she can do. She’s been keeping in that howling-fit for over a week, and it must find vent. She’ll be all right when you see her next. But don’t, on any account, ever again mention the heather that we brought from Craigie Muir. She may get over its death some day, but not yet.”
“Your sister is a very strange girl,” said Margaret.
“Every one says that,” replied Sylvia. “Don’t they, Het?”
“Yes; we’re quite tired of hearing it,” said Hetty. “But do let’s come quickly. Which is the farthest-off part of the grounds—the place where we are quite certain not to hear?”
“You make me feel almost nervous,” said Margaret. “But come along, if you wish to.”
The four girls walked rapidly. At last they found alittle summer-house which was built high up on the very top of a rising mound. From here you could get a good view of the surrounding country; and very beautiful it was—at least, for those whose eyes were trained to observe the rich beauty of cultivated land, of flowing rivers, of forests, of carefully kept trees. Very lonely indeed was the scene from Haddo Court summer-house; for, in addition to every scrap of land being made to yield its abundance, there were pretty cottages dotted here and there—each cottage possessing its own gay flower-garden, and, in most cases, its own happy little band of pretty boys and girls.
As soon as the four girls found themselves in the summer-house, Margaret began to praise the view to Sylvia.
Sylvia looked round to right and to left. “Wedon’t admire that sort of thing,” she said. “Do we, Hetty?”
Hetty shook her head with vehemence. “Oh no, no,” she said. Then, coming a little closer to Margaret, she looked into her face and continued, “Are you the sort of kind girl who will keep a secret?”
Margaret thought of the Speciality Club. But surely this poor little secret belonging solely to the Vivians need not be related to any one who was not in sympathy with them. “I never tell tales, if that is what you mean,” she said.
“Then that is all right,” remarked Sylvia. “And are you the same sort of girl, Olive? You look very kind.”
“It wouldn’t be hard to be kind to one like you,” was Olive’s response.
Whereupon Sylvia smiled, and Hetty came close to Olive and looked into her face.
“Then we want you,” continued Sylvia, “never, never to tell about the burnt sacrifice of the Scotch heather, nor about the flight of the fairies back to Scotland. It tortured Betty to have to do it; but she thought it right,therefore it was done. There are some people, however, who would not understand her; and we would much rather be able to tell our own Betty that you will never speak of it, when she has come back to herself and has got over her howling.”
“Of course we’ll never tell,” said Olive; and Margaret nodded her head without speaking.
“I think you are just awfully nice,” said Sylvia. “We were so terrified when we came to this school. We thought we’d have an awful time. We still speak of it as a prison, you know. Do you speak of it to your dearest friend as a prison?”
“Prison!” said Margaret. “There isn’t a place in the world I love as I love Haddo Court.”
“Then you never, never lived in a dear little gray stone house on a wild Scotch moor; and you never had a man like Donald Macfarlane to talk to, nor a woman like Jean Macfarlane to make scones for you; and you never had dogs like our dogs up there, nor a horse like David. I pity you from my heart!”
“I never had any of those things,” said Margaret; “but I shall like to hear about them from you.”
“And so shall I like to hear about them,” said Olive.
“We will tell you, if Betty gives us leave,” said one of the twins. “We never do anything without Betty’s leave. She is the person we look up to, and obey, and follow. We’d follow her to the world’s end; we’d die for her, both of us, if it would do her any good.”
Margaret took Sylvia’s hand and began to smooth it softly. “I wish,” she said then in a slow voice, “that I had friends to love me as you love your sister.”
“Perhaps you aren’t worthy,” said Sylvia. “There is no one living like Betty in all the world, and we feel about her as we do because she is Betty.”
“But, all the same,” said Hester, frowning as she spoke, “our Betty has got an enemy.”
“An enemy, my dear child! What do you mean? You have just been praising her so much! Did any one take a dislike to her up in that north country?”
“It may have begun there,” remarked Hetty; “but the sad and dreadful thing is that the enemy is in this house. Sylvia and I don’t mind your knowing. We rather think you like her, but we don’t. Her name is Fanny Crawford.”
“Oh, really, though, that is quite nonsense!” said Margaret, flushing with annoyance. “Poor dear Fanny, there is not a better or sweeter girl in the school!”
Sylvia laughed. “That is your point of view,” she said. “She is our enemy; she is not yours. Oh, hurrah! hurrah! I see Betty! She is coming back, walking very slowly. She has got over the worst of the howls. We must both go and meet her. Don’t be anywhere about, please, either of you. Keep quite in the shade, so that she won’t see you; and the next time you meet talk to her as though this had never happened.”
The twins dashed out of sight. They certainly could run very fast.
When they had gone Margaret looked at Olive. “Well,” she said, “that sort of scene rather takes one’s breath away. What do you think, Olive?”
“It was exceedingly trying,” said Olive.
“All the same,” said Margaret, “I feel roused up about those girls in the most extraordinary manner. Didn’t you notice, too, what Sylvia said about poor Fanny? Isn’t it horrid?”
“Of course it isn’t true,” was Olive’s remark.
“We have made up our minds not to speak evil of any one in the school,” said Margaret after a pause; “but I cannot help remembering that Fanny did not wish Betty to become a Speciality. And don’t you recall how angry she was, and how she would not vote with the ‘ayes,’ andwould not give any reason, and although she was hostess she walked out of the room?”
“It’s very uncomfortable altogether,” said Olive. “But I don’t see that we can do anything.”
“Well, perhaps not yet,” said Margaret; “but I may as well say at once, Olive, that I mean to take up those girls. Until to-day I was only interested in Betty, but now I am interested in all three; and if I can, without making mischief, I must get to the bottom of what is making poor little Betty so bitter, and what is upsetting the equanimity of our dear old Fan, whom we have always loved so dearly.”
Just at that moment Fanny Crawford herself and Susie Rushworth appeared, walking together arm in arm. They saw Margaret and Olive, and came to join them. Susie was in her usual high spirits, and Fanny looked quite calm and collected. There was not even an allusion made to the Vivian girls. Margaret was most thankful, for she certainly did not wish the little episode she had witnessed to reach any one’s ears but her own and Olive’s. Susie was talking eagerly about a great picnic which Mrs. Haddo had arranged for the following Saturday. The whole school, both upper and lower, were to go. Mr. Fairfax and his wife, most of the teachers, and Mrs. Haddo herself would also accompany the girls. They were all going to a place about twenty miles away; and Mrs. Haddo, who kept two motor-cars of her own, had made arrangements for the hire of several more, so that the party could quickly reach their place of rendezvous and thus have a longer time there to enjoy themselves.
“She does things so well, doesn’t she?” said Susie. “There never was her like. Do you know, there was a sort of insurrection in the lower school early this morning, for naughty sprites had whispered that all the small children were to go in ordinary carriages and dogcarts and wagonettes. Then came the news that Mrs. Haddomeant each girl in the school to have an equal share of enjoyment; and, lo and behold! the cloud has vanished, and the little ones are making even merrier than the older girls.”
“I wish I felt as amiable as I used to feel,” said Fanny at that moment.
“Oh, but, Fan, why don’t you?” asked Olive. “You ought to feel more and more amiable every day—that is, if training means anything.”
“Training is all very well,” answered Fanny, “and you may think you are all right; but when temptation comes——”
“Temptation!” said Margaret. “In my opinion, that is the worst of Haddo Court: we are so shielded, and treated with such extreme kindness, that temptation cannot come.”
“Then you wish to be tested, do you, Margaret?” asked Fanny.
Margaret shivered slightly. “Sometimes I do wish it,” she said.
“Oh, Margaret dear, don’t!” said Olive. “You’ll have heaps of troubles in life, for my mother says that no one yet was exempt from them. There never was a woman quite like my darling mother—except, indeed, Mrs. Haddo. Mother has quite peculiar ideas with regard to bringing up girls. She says the aim of her life is to give me a very happy childhood and early youth. She thinks that such a life will make me all the stronger to withstand temptation.”
“Let us hope so, anyhow,” said Fanny. Then she added, “Don’t suppose I am grumbling, although it has been a trial father going away—so very far away—to India. But I think the real temptation comes to us in this way: when we have to meet girls we can’t tolerate.”
“Now she’s going to say something dreadful!” thought Olive to herself.
Margaret rose as though she would put an end to the colloquy.
Fanny was watching Margaret’s face. “The girl I am specially thinking of now,” she said, “is Sibyl Ray.”
“Oh!” said Margaret. She gave a sigh of such undoubted relief that Fanny was certain she had guessed what her first thoughts were.
“And now I will tell you why I don’t like Sibyl,” Fanny continued. “I have nothing whatever to say against her. I have never heard of her doing anything underhand or what we might call low-down or ill-bred. At the same time, I do dislike Sibyl, just for the simple reason that she isnotwell-bred, and she never will be.”
“Oh! oh, give her her chance—do!” said Olive.
“I am not going to interfere with her,” remarked Fanny; “but she can never be a friend of mine. There are some girls who like her very well. There’s Martha West, who is constantly with her.”
“I am quite sure,” said Margaret, “that there isn’t a better girl in the school than Martha, and I have serious thoughts of asking her to become a Speciality.” As she spoke she fixed her very dark eyes on Fanny’s face.
“Do ask her; I shall be delighted,” remarked Fanny. “Only, whatever you do, don’t ask her friend, Sibyl Ray.”
“I have no present intention of doing so. Fanny, I don’t want to be nasty; but you are quite right about Sibyl. No one can say a word against her; and yet she just is not well-bred.”
The picnic was a great success. The day was splendid. The sun shone in a sky which was almost cloudless. The motor-cars were all in prime condition. There were noaccidents of any sort. The girls laughed and chatted, and enjoyed life to the utmost; and the Vivian girls were amongst the merriest in those large and varied groups.
The twins invariably followed in Betty’s footsteps, and Betty possessed that curious mixture of temperament which threw her into the depths of anguish one moment and sent her spirits flying like a rocket skyward the next. Betty’s spirits were tending skyward on this happy day. She was also making friends in the school, and was delighted to walk with Margaret and Susie and Olive. Fanny did not trouble her at all; but Martha West chatted with her for a whole long hour, and, as Martha knew Scotland, a very strong link was immediately established between the girls.
A thoroughly happy picnic—a perfect one—is usually lived through without adventure. There are nocontretemps, no unhappy moments, no jealousies, no heart-burnings. These are the sort of picnics which come to us very rarely in life, but they do come now and then. In one sense, however, they are uninteresting, for they have no history—there is little or nothing to say about them. Other picnics are to follow in this story which ended differently, which led to tangled knots and bitter heart-burnings. But the first picnics from Haddo Court in which Betty Vivian took part was, in a way, something like that first morning when she joined the other girls in whispering her prayers in the beautiful chapel.
The picnic came and went, and in course of time the day arrived when Betty was to be the honored guest of the Specialities. On the morning of that day Fanny made another effort to induce Betty to renounce the idea of becoming a Speciality. She had spent a sleepless night thinking over the matter, and by the morning had made up her mind what to do.
Betty was making friends rapidly in the school. Butthe twins, although they were quite popular, still clung very much to each other; and Fanny’s idea was to get at Betty through her sisters. She knew quite well that often, during recess, Sylvia and Hester rushed upstairs, for what purpose she could not ascertain, the existence of the Vivians’ attic being unknown to her. There, however, day by day, Sylvia and Hetty fed Dickie on raw meat, and watched the monstrous spider getting larger and more ferocious-looking.
“He’d be the sort,” said Sylvia, opening her eyes very wide and fixing them on her sister, “to do mischief tosome oneifsome onewere not very careful.”
“Oh, don’t, silly Sylvia!” said Hetty with some annoyance. “You know Mrs. Haddo would not like you to talk like that. Now let’s examine our caterpillars.”
“There isn’t much to see at the present moment,” remarked Sylvia, “for they’re every one of them in the chrysalis stage.”
The girls, having spent about five minutes in the Vivians’ attics, now ran downstairs, and went out, as was their custom, by a side-door which opened into one of the gardens. It was here that Fanny pounced on them. She came quickly forward, trying to look as pleasant as she could.
“Well, twins,” she said, “and how goes the world with you?”
“Oh, all right!” replied Sylvia. “We can’t stay to talk now; can we, Het? We’ve got to meet a friend of ours in the lower garden—old Birchall. By the way, do you know old Birchall, Fan?”
“Doddering old creature! of course I know him,” replied Fanny.
“He isn’t doddering,” said Sylvia; “he has a great deal more sense than most of us. I wish I had half his knowledge of worms, and spiders, and ants, and goldfish, and—and—flies of every sort. Why, there isn’t a thinghe doesn’t know about them. I call him one of the most delightful old men I ever met.”
“Oh,” said Hetty, “you shouldn’t say that, Sylvia! Birchall is nice, but he isn’t a patch upon Donald Macfarlane.”
“If you want to see Birchall, I will walk with you,” said Fanny. “You can’t object to my doing that, can you?”
“We mean to run,” said Hetty.
“Oh no, you don’t!” said Fanny. Here she took Hetty’s hand, pulled it violently through her arm. “You’ve got to talk to me, both of you. I have something important I want to say.”
Sylvia laughed.
“Why do you laugh, you naughty, rude little girl?”
“Oh, please forgive me, Fanny; but it does sound so silly for you to say that you have something important to talk over with us, for of course we know perfectly well that you have nothing of the sort.”
“Then you are wrong, that’s all; and I sha’n’t waste time arguing with you.”
“That’s all right,” said Hetty. “We may be off to Birchall now, mayn’t we, Fanny?”
“No, you mayn’t. You must take a message from me to Betty.”
“I thought so,” remarked Sylvia.
Fanny had great difficulty in controlling her temper. After a minute she said, speaking quietly, “I don’t permit myself to lower myself by arguing with children like you two. But I have an important message to give your sister, and if you won’t give it you clearly understand that you will rue it to the last days of your lives—yes, to the last day of your lives.”
Sylvia began to dance. Hetty tried to tug her hand away from Fanny’s arm.
“Come, children, you can do it or not, just as you please.Tell Betty that if she is wise, and does not wish to get into a most serious and disgraceful scrape, she will not attend the meeting of some girls in Margaret Grant’s room this evening.”
“Let’s try if we know it exactly right,” said Sylvia. “Betty will get into a serious scrape if she goes to Margaret Grant’s room to-night? What a pity! For, you see, Fan, she is going.”
“Do listen to me, Sylvia. You have more sense in your little head than you imagine. Persuade Betty not to go. Believe me, I am only acting for her best interests.”
“We’ll give her the message all right,” said Hester. “But as to persuading Betty when Betty’s mind is made up, I’d like to know who can persuade her to change it then.”
“But you are her sisters; she will do what you wish.”
“But wedon’twish her not to go. We’d much rather she went. Why shouldn’t she have a bit of fun? Some one told us—I forget now who it was—that there are always splendid chocolates at those funny bedroom-parties. I only wish we were asked!”
“I tell you that your sister will get into a scrape!” repeated Fanny.
“You tell us so indeed,” said Sylvia, “and it’s most frightfully annoying of you; for we sha’n’t have a minute to talk to Birchall, and he promised to have four different kinds of worms ready for us to look at this morning. Oh dear, dear! mayn’t we go? Fanny, if you are so fond of Betty, why don’t you speak to her yourself?”
“I have spoken, and she won’t listen to me.”
“There! wasn’t I right?” said Sylvia. “Oh Fanny, do you think she’d mind what we said—and coming from you, too? If she didn’t listen to you direct, she certainly won’t listen to you crookedwise—that’s not Betty.”
“I was thinking,” said Fanny, “that you might persuade her—that is, if you are very, very clever, just fromyourselves—not to go. You needn’t mention my name at all; and if you really manage this, I can tell you I’ll do a wonderful lot for you. I’ll get father to send me curious spiders and other creatures, all the way from India, for you. He can if he likes. I will write to him by the very next mail.”
“Bribes! bribes!” cried Sylvia. “No, Fan, we can’t be bribed. Good-bye, Fan. We’ll give the message, but she’ll go all the same.”
With a sudden spring, for which Fanny was not prepared, Hester loosened her hand from Fanny’s arm. The next minute she had caught Sylvia’s hand, and the two were speeding away in the direction of the lower garden and the fascinating company of old Birchall.
Fanny could have stamped her foot with rage.
The Specialities always met at eight o’clock in the evening. They were expected to wear their pretty evening-dress, and look as much like grown-up young ladies as possible. In a great house like Haddo Court there must be all sorts of rooms, some much bigger than others. Thus, where every room was nice and comfortable, there were a few quite charming. The Vivians had one of the largest rooms, but Margaret Grant had the most beautiful. She had been for long years now in the school, and was therefore accorded many privileges. She had come to Haddo Court as a very little girl, and had worked her way steadily from the lower school to the upper. Her people were exceedingly well-off, and her beautiful room—half bedroom, half sitting-room—was furnished mostly out of her own pocket-money. She took great pride in its arrangements, and on this special evening it looked more attractive than usual. There were great vases of late roses and early chrysanthemums on the different whatnots and small tables. A very cheerful fire blazed in the grate, for it was getting cold enough now to enjoy a fire in the evenings,and Margaret’s supper was all that was tasteful and elegant.
Betty had received Fanny Crawford’s message, and Betty’s eyes had sparkled with suppressed fun when her sisters had delivered it to her. She had made no comment of any sort, but had asked the girls, before they got into bed, to help her to fasten on her very prettiest frock. She had not worn this frock before, and the simple, soft, white muslin suited her young face and figure as nothing else could have done. The black ribbon which tied back her thick hair, and was worn in memory of dear Aunt Frances, was also becoming to her; and the twin girls’ eyes sparkled with rapture as they looked at their darling.
“Good-night, Bet!” said Sylvia.
“Have a splendid time, Bet!” whispered Hester.
Then Sylvia said, “I am glad you are going!”
“But of course I am going,” said Betty. “Good-night, chickabiddies; good-night. I won’t wake you when I come back. Sleep well!” Betty left the room.
In the corridor outside she met Olive Repton, who said, “Oh, there you are, Betty! Now let’s come. We’ll be two of the first; but that’s all the better, seeing that you are a new member.”
“It sounds so mysterious—a sort of freemasonry,” remarked Betty, laughing as she spoke. “I never did think that exciting things of this sort happened at school.”
“They don’t at most schools,” replied Olive. “But, then, there is only one Haddo Court in the world.”
“Shall I have to take an awful vow; shall I have to write my name in blood in a queer sort of book, or anything of that sort?” asked Betty.
“No, no! You are talking nonsense now.”
By this time they had reached Margaret’s room, and Margaret was waiting for them. Betty gave a cry of rapture when she saw the flowers, and, going from oneglass bowl to the other, she buried her face in the delicious perfume.
By-and-by the rest of the Specialities appeared—the Bertrams (who were greatly excited at the thought of Betty joining), Susie Rushworth, and, last to enter, Fanny Crawford.
Fanny had taken great pains with her dress, and she looked her best on this occasion. She gave one quick glance at Betty. Then she went up to her and said, “Welcome, Betty!” and held out her hand.
Betty was not prepared for this most friendly greeting. She scarcely touched Fanny’s hand, however, and by so doing put herself slightly in the wrong in the presence of the girls, who were watching her; while Fanny, far cleverer in these matters, put herself in the right.
“Now, then, we must all have supper,” said Margaret. “After that we’ll explain the rules to Betty, and she can decide whether she will join us or not. Then we can be as jolly as we please. It is our custom, you know, girls, to be extra jolly when a new member joins the Specialities.”
“I’m game for all the fun in the world,” said Betty. Her curious, eager, beautiful eyes were fixed on Margaret’s face; and Margaret again felt that strange sense of being wonderfully drawn to her, and yet at the same time of being annoyed. What did Fanny’s conduct mean? But one girl, however much she may wish to do so, cannot quite spoil the fun of six others. Margaret, therefore, was prepared to be as amiable and merry and gay as possible.
Was there ever a more delicious supper? Did ever cake taste quite so nice? Were chocolate creams and Turkish delight ever quite so good? And was not Margaret’s lemonade even more admirable than her delicate cups of cocoa? And were not the dried fruits which were presently handed round quite wonderful in flavor? And, above all things,were not the sandwiches which Margaret had provided as a sort of surprise (for as a rule they had no sandwiches at these gatherings) the greatest success of all?
The merry supper came to an end, and the girls now clustered in a wide circle round the fire; and Margaret, as president, took the book of rules and began to read aloud.
“There are,” she said, opening the book, which was bound beautifully in white vellum, “certain rules which each member receives a copy of, and which she takes to heart and obeys. If she deliberately breaks any single one of these rules, and such a lapse of principle is discovered, she is expected to withdraw from the Specialities. This club was first set on foot by a girl who has long left the school, and who was very much loved when she was here. Up to the present it has been a success, although its numbers have varied according to the tone of the girls who belong to the upper school. No girl belonging to the lower school has ever yet been asked to join. We have had at one time in the Speciality Club as many as one dozen members. At present we are six; although we hope that if you, Betty, decide to join us, we shall have seven members. That will be very nice,” continued Margaret, smiling and looking across the room at Betty, whose eyes were fixed on her face, “for seven is the mystic, the perfect number. Now, I will begin to read the rules aloud to you. If you decide to think matters over, we will ask you to come to our next gathering this day week, when you will receive the badge of membership, and a copy of the rules would be made by me and sent to you to your room.
“Now I will begin by telling you that the great object of our club is to encourage the higher thought. Its object is to discourage and, if possible, put a stop to low, small, mean, foolish, uncharitable thoughts. Its object is to set kindness before each member as the best thing in life.You can judge for yourself, Betty, that we aim high. Yes, what were you going to say?”
“I was thinking,” said Betty, whose eyes were now very wide open indeed, while her cheeks grew paler than ever with some concealed emotion, “that the girl who first thought of this club must have sat on a Scotch moor one day, with the purple heather all round her, and that to her it was vouchsafed to hear the fairies speak when they rang the little purple bells of the heather.”
“That may have been the case, dear,” said Margaret in her kindest tone. “Now, I will read you the rules. They are quite short and to the point: