"So Ruth is the peacemaker?" Dr. Reed questioned, with a smile.
"Yes," assented Violet. She always talked unreservedly to the doctor now, and he considered her a very bright, frank girl, as indeed she was with people she trusted, and she had learnt to trust Dr. and Mrs. Reed, and Ann. "I don't know what they would have done at home if you had said you wouldn't take me instead of Ruth," she proceeded candidly; "mother said in her last letter that Ruth is more than ever her right hand in the house."
"How does she get on with her drawing?" asked the doctor.
"Oh, capitally! She tells me she puts all her spare time to it; she means to be a great artist some day, I wonder if she will."
"Time will show," Mrs. Reed said, smiling, "I hope so. If she really has a talent for drawing and painting and works hard, no doubt she will get on. She is evidently ambitious."
"She wants to be able to make money so as to be able to help father," Violet explained.
"That is a worthy ambition," Dr. Reed declared heartily, "and an unselfish one, too. She is fond of her father—like another person I could mention," he added, with a quick glance at Ann.
Violet saw the look, and a sharp pang shot through her heart, whilst the home-sickness against which she had secretly fought—she had been successful in hiding it from the Reeds—and conquered altogether, as she had considered, returned as strong as it had ever been. At that minute she would have given anything for a glimpse of the shabby little Streatham home, and the faces of those who had never appeared so dear to her, when she had seen them every day, as they did now. For a few minutes Violet's brown eyes were dim with unshed tears.
Dr. ELIZABETH RIDGEWAY'S home was in the old part of Barford, a house in a street which was an important thoroughfare and where a great deal of business was done, for it was situated in the very heart of the town. She had occupied the same abode for more than thirty years, and she was attached to it. She loved the various sounds, to which many would have objected, caused by the constant traffic and the noise from the factories which were like so many human hives, the doors of which opened at certain hours to pour forth their hundreds of working bees.
She lived a simple, hard-working life herself; and, when, one evening about six o'clock, she was informed that Mrs. Reed and two young ladies wished to see her, she had just finished her tea, after a busy day, and was hoping to have an hour's rest before going out again to visit a patient who was in a critical condition.
"Show them in here," she said; and a minute later she was shaking hands with her visitors. Then she ascertained they had had tea, and, when they were seated, she told them that she was very glad to see them, adding that she was a little tired, and nothing did her so much good as a chat with friends.
"Violet and Ann are very desirous to solicit your help for someone in whom they are greatly interested," Mrs. Reed explained almost immediately, "and as, of course, I do not care for them to be out alone after dark, I came with them. We thought we should be more likely to find you at leisure at this hour than earlier in the day."
"Quite right. I have had a very full day, for, as you are doubtless aware, there is much sickness about; but I have an hour to spare now, and I am at your service. If I can do anything for anyone in want of my assistance I will most gladly. How well my little travelling-companion looks!" Dr. Elizabeth concluded her sentence with a smiling glance at Violet, who, with her usual quick observation, had already made mental notes of everything in the simply furnished room.
"I think she does," agreed Mrs. Reed; "my husband was saying only yesterday that Yorkshire air evidently suits her."
"The change is doing her good;" said Dr. Elizabeth, decidedly. "Ann is looking well, too. I do not think they overwork you at Helmsford College," she remarked, looking from one to the other of the girls.
"We are not worked too hard, but quite hard enough," Ann replied; at which the others laughed. "That is what I think," she proceeded, "but then I'm not a book-worm and not so fond of learning as Violet—she loves books, and she remembers everything she reads, and everything she is told, too."
"Ah, a certain little bird informed me that Violet bids fair to be a clever woman some day, and that she is considered a most promising pupil at school," observed Dr. Elizabeth.
"I cannot guess who told you that," Violet said, her pretty face colouring, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, "but I am trying to get on. I should so much like to be a clever woman," she admitted.
"Should you? Why?" asked Dr. Elizabeth.
"Why?" repeated Violet, somewhat astonished at the question. "Oh because I want to get on in the world," she answered; "I am going in for all sorts of examinations later on, and I mean to work hard and pass them and become a highly educated woman like Miss Orchardson."
Dr. Elizabeth exchanged a quick glance with Mrs. Reed, then she looked earnestly at the eager countenance of the sanguine speaker, and said:— "Well, perhaps if you work hard you will one day gain your ambition—perhaps, for it will be as God wills, and often He withholds from us what we most desire."
"Yes," agreed Violet, thinking of the many years during which her father had laboured—in vain, it seemed to her—in the hope of bettering his position, whilst men less gifted had passed him by in the race for success, "I have often wondered at that! But I shall try my hardest to get on."
"Quite right," nodded Dr. Elizabeth, "do your best and leave the result to God. I wonder if you know this verse:—"
"'Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever,
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make Life, Death, and that vast "For-ever"
One grand sweet song.'"
"But it's possible to be good and clever as well, Dr. Elizabeth," said Ann. "It seems to me I know many clever people who are good, don't you, mother?"
"Certainly, I do," Mrs. Reed answered, "but everyone cannot be clever, and everyone, who wills, may be good."
"That's what I mean," said Dr. Elizabeth, her eyes still on Violet who was looking thoughtful. "And now tell me whom do you want me to help and what can I do?" she proceeded to inquire, turning her attention to Ann.
"We want you to help Lottie Medland by speaking to her about the way she is going on," commenced Ann eagerly; "you know Lottie, the sister of poor Malvina Medland?" As Dr. Elizabeth assented, she continued, speaking fast— "Lottie has taken to betting—oh, isn't it dreadful? It is so sad for Malvina and her mother, for you know they are really most respectable people. Malvina came to our house on Saturday with some work she had done for mother, and she seemed unhappy—as a rule she is cheerful and bright—and by-and-by she told Violet and me what was troubling her. Lottie spends nearly all her money in betting now. Of course poor Mrs. Medland and Malvina are terribly worried, for it makes things very short at home, and, apart from that, they are frightened to think what will become of Lottie. Oh, Dr. Elizabeth, don't you think you might speak to her and point out to her how wrong it is to bet? Father thought you might be able to find an opportunity to do so."
Dr. Elizabeth's face had been very grave as she had listened, and, for a few minutes after Ann had ceased speaking, she sat in silence, her brows puckered in a frown.
"I will certainly make an opportunity of speaking to Lottie," she said, at length, "but whether I shall be able to do any good or not remains to be seen. Poor, misguided girl! I am deeply grieved to hear this of her. Every day of my life I am brought in contact with untold misery caused by betting and gambling."
"My husband's experience is the same," said Mrs. Reed sadly, "it is very dreadful, and one can do so little to fight against the evil—"
"Except speak a fearless word against it on every possible occasion," interposed Dr. Elizabeth; "I never scruple to do that, and very sour looks I get turned upon me sometimes, I do assure you. But I have never held my tongue yet when I have considered it my duty to speak out, though I believe I'm often dubbed a busy-body for my pains."
"It's a good thing for the world in general that there are some busy-bodies in it," remarked Mrs. Reed. "But, to return to Lottie Medland. I am sure she will be more likely to listen to you than to anyone else; you are such a friend to the factory women and girls."
"I try to be," Dr. Elizabeth rejoined, simply; "but there's little enough I can do for them, poor things. Yes, I'll certainly speak to Lottie."
"Thank you," said Ann, "I felt sure you would; and, oh, I do hope she will give up betting for her mother's sake and Malvina's, if not for her own!"
"Dr. Elizabeth," said Violet, a recollection suddenly crossing her mind, "how is the mother of that little girl who goes out charing?"
"She is quite convalescent now, and the brave little charwoman is consequently in high spirits and feels, I verily believe, that she has not a trouble in the world; I came across her a few mornings ago whitening the doorstep of a house where she is often employed, and she was singing light-heartedly."
"What sort of people employ such a child?" asked Mrs. Reed.
"Oh, all sorts of people. She has one engagement to scrub out a greengrocer's shop daily before breakfast, but that is her only standing engagement, I believe."
At that moment the conversation was interrupted by a servant, who brought the information that there had been an accident in the next street and medical assistance was required, therefore a messenger had been sent to summon Dr. Elizabeth. On hearing this the visitors immediately took their departure.
A few weeks later Malvina again visited Laureston Square. Mrs. Reed was not at home, and the two girls were at school; so she left her work, and the next day, after school, Ann, accompanied by Violet, took the money she had earned to her.
Malvina was alone when her visitors arrived, for her mother had gone to do her weekly marketing, and Lottie was out with a friend. This Malvina explained; then, when she had received her money and been assured, in answer to her anxious inquiry, that Mrs. Reed was pleased with her work, she said confidentially, the sensitive colour spreading over her face:—
"I feel I must tell you about Lottie, for I spoke to you, the other day, of the way she'd been going on. I know you'll be glad to hear that she's handed over every penny she's earned this last fortnight to mother. I do believe she's turned over a new leaf and given up betting."
"Oh, this is good news!" cried Ann, delightedly, exchanging a meaning glance with Violet. "What has made her give it up, do you imagine?" she inquired.
"I can't tell miss; I only know that God has heard our prayers for her—mother's and mine—and answered them. I hope she won't give way to temptation again."
"Oh, I trust she will not," said Ann earnestly; and after that the subject dropped.
But, on the way home, Violet, who had been unusually silent and thoughtful, reverted to it by remarking abruptly:—
"I cannot see that Malvina's prayers can have had anything to do with Lottie's giving up betting. It seemed so odd to hear Malvina say what she did and to know that it was really Dr. Elizabeth's doing. There's no doubt in my mind that Dr. Elizabeth has seen Lottie, and given her a good talking to. Don't you think so, Ann?"
"Oh, yes! But Malvina was right in what she said."
"I can't see how you make out that. We asked Dr. Elizabeth to interfere—or rather, you did, Ann. God had nothing to do with it."
"Oh, Violet, don't you think He may have used us to do His work? I like to think He did, that—in a little way—we were able to serve Him."
"What a funny girl you are, Ann!" exclaimed Violet.
"Why?" Ann asked, in astonishment.
"You are always seeing God's hand in everything."
"I try to; one is so much happier if one does. It's such a comfort to know there's Someone who manages things right if you trust Him. Father says that was the most valuable lesson Granny taught him when he was a little boy, to do his best and leave the result to God—by the way, Dr. Elizabeth gave us that advice the other day. I wish you knew my grandmother, Violet."
"Does she never come to stay with you?" questioned Violet, who had often wondered if she did, but had never liked to inquire.
"She has not visited us for a long while now; you know she is an old woman, and the journey has become too much for her to undertake. We shall go to see her in the summer holidays, in August, if all's well. I wish you could be there too, Violet; but, of course, you would rather be with your people at home. Oh, look! There's Lottie Medland! She is the middle one of those three girls opposite."
Violet glanced across the street, and perceived three girls strolling along arm in arm, talking and laughing loudly. They were all showily dressed, she noticed, in tawdry finery; but the one in the centre, who looked only a little older than herself, had a more refined countenance than the others. Though not the possessor of a beautiful face like her sister, Lottie Medland was a decidedly nice-looking girl, and, at the present moment, she appeared full of animation. Suddenly she caught sight of Ann and Violet, and, evidently recognising the former, she drew back from her companions on the pretence of being attracted by something in a shop window.
"I wonder why she did that," said Ann, as she and Violet passed on; "I nodded to her, but perhaps she did not see me." She spoke half inquiringly.
"Oh, yes, I am sure she did," Violet returned decidedly, "but she did not want you to notice her. I believe she was ashamed for some reason or other."
"Do you think Malvina can have told her that she spoke to us about her betting?" suggested Ann, dubiously.
"Oh, no! I expect she was ashamed to be seen in company with those two fast-looking girls."
"Perhaps that was it."
"Most likely, I think. At any rate, I would not distress myself about it," Violet advised, smiling, for she was more than a little amused because the other took the matter so seriously and appeared so concerned; "one would really think, Ann, judging from the expression of your face, that you had been 'cut' by a friend."
AS the school term progressed and Agnes Hosking continued to evince a friendly spirit towards Violet, the uneasiness which the latter had experienced when she had discovered her old school-fellow at Helmsford College lessened considerably, if it did not altogether leave her; and she was beginning to tell herself that, perhaps, after all, she had misjudged Agnes, when she was enlightened as to the reason of the other girl's overtures of friendship.
It came about in this way. One fine March afternoon Violet was standing, with several of her school-fellows, watching a game of hockey, which was being played on the College ground, when Agnes came up and entered into conversation with her. At first Violet, who was intent on the game, in which she was greatly interested because Ann Reed was one of the players, paid but little attention to what Agnes was saying; but, by-and-by, she became aware that her companion was bemoaning the fact that she had no friends in Barford to ask her out to tea on the weekly holiday, and that she was hinting that an invitation to spend a Saturday afternoon at the Reeds' house would be very welcome.
"I've spent all my Saturdays here so far—not one of the day-scholars has asked me to her home," she complained, "it's hard lines on me, isn't it?"
"Yes," agreed Violet, but without much sympathy in her tone; "you're in the same box as a great many others, though, and with such a lot of girls you cannot very well be dull."
"I find it very monotonous, and so would you if you were in my place."
"I daresay." There was indifference in Violet's voice and manner.
"You have the best of it, Violet. Anyone can see you have a very good time with the Reeds."
"They are such very kind people," Violet replied, heartily.
"I suppose they let you do as you like in every way?" suggested Agnes.
"There you are quite wrong. I am treated just as Ann is, but she can't do exactly as she likes always."
"At any rate she can ask her friends to tea with her on Saturdays, if she likes, can't she?"
"Oh, yes! The Garrets came last week."
The Garrets were two girls whose parents were in India. They were boarders at Helmsford College and spent their holidays with their grandmother, their father's mother, who lived in a fine, old country house about three miles from Barford. They were pleasant, unaffected girls, the younger about the age of Ann herself, the elder a year her senior.
"I wish you'd get Ann Reed to ask me to tea on Saturday, Violet," said Agnes, in a coaxing tone, perceiving that she would not acquire her end by hinting, and, accordingly, speaking out, "I should like to see what her home is like."
"It's not nearly such a grand home as yours," Violet answered evasively, finding herself in an awkward position, "you wouldn't think much of it."
"Nonsense! You say that to put me off!" Agnes exclaimed, an angry flush rising to her face. "I know the Reeds are well-to-do people," she continued; "I see what it is, you want to keep your friends to yourself, and I call it very mean of you. You know very well that if you suggested to Ann that she should ask me to tea one Saturday she would do it; she's very good-natured, and you and I are such old friends—"
"That's not true!" Violet broke in impetuously, growing very red and speaking with a want of caution she afterwards regretted. "You know you were never friendly with me when we were at Miss Minter's, nor with Ruth. You used to snub us, and I haven't forgotten it. Why should I pretend to Ann that I wish to ask you to tea when I don't? You wouldn't want to be Ann Reed's visitor if she lived in a poky house—"
"Like your home at Streatham," interrupted Agnes, a gleam of malice in her eyes. She laughed in a sneering fashion. "No, I wouldn't," she declared, emphatically, adding: "I think you'd better get her to ask me, though, all the same."
There was a decided threat in the girl's tone, and Violet cast a suspicious, inquiring glance at her.
"I want to be friendly with Ann Reed," Agnes continued, "I was sent to Helmsford College that I should make friends with girls whose parents hold good positions, and, though Ann's grandmother was only a common servant, I've heard from several of the day-scholars that Dr. Reed and his wife visit in the best society in Barford, and that the doctor's practice brings him in a big income. Don't be nasty, Violet; for if you are I shall make things very disagreeable for you, and you won't like that."
"I don't understand what you mean," Violet said uneasily. She was trembling with indignation and apprehension of she knew not what.
"Don't you? Nonsense! You know well enough. Do you imagine that I haven't found out you're here under false pretences?"
"False pretences!" echoed Violet, her voice shrill with wrath. "How dare you say that to me? It's not true! You know it's not!"
"Hush, hush!" cried Agnes, glancing quickly around. Violet's late companions had moved away, however, and, as no one was very near, Agnes continued: "It is true, so what is the good of your denying it. You pretend that you are on an equality with the Reeds when it's no such thing. They have taken you out of charity, and are providing for you in every way. Oh, it's useless your being angry and looking at me in that haughty way, for I've found out all about it from friends at Streatham."
Violet had grown exceedingly white, and she could scarcely speak for passion. At that moment she felt that she positively hated Agnes Hosking; but, with a great effort, she succeeded in curbing her rage, and answered with a calmness which surprised her companion:—
"I have made no pretence about anything, and you have no right whatever to speak to me in such an insulting fashion. If I am living on the Reeds' charity, what is that to you?"
"But are you?" asked Agnes, who was by no means sure of what she had stated.
"You say so," Violet responded haughtily, "but, if you are in the least doubtful on the point, why not ask Ann? She will no doubt tell you the truth. By all means ask Ann."
But Agnes had no intention of doing that. She began to see that she had gone too far and had made a mistake in taunting Violet, so she commenced to temporise.
"We won't quarrel, for that's foolish," she said; "but, really, it was your fault that I spoke out as I did. Haven't I tried to be friendly with you? Wasn't I pleased to meet you here? And yet, when I suggested that you might get Ann Reed to ask me to her house to tea you began to put me off immediately. That aggravated me, naturally, and I am quick-tempered. Come, Violet, get Ann to invite me for next Saturday afternoon and I will promise not to let you down before the other girls."
"How could you 'let me down' as you express it?" Violet inquired, vainly trying to hide the anxiety she was experiencing.
"I could tell them that your father is so poor he couldn't possibly afford to pay for you to board with the Reeds or for your school fees, and you wouldn't like everybody to know that, I suppose? I can assure you that your position here would be very different to what it is if it were known you were being educated by charity. I will keep all this to myself, though, if you will only do what I ask you."
Violet was silent. She had entirely lost all interest in the game of hockey now, and, though she still gazed at the players, it was with unseeing eyes which noted none of their movements. Her thoughts had flown to her own home, to her hard-working father who certainly did his best for his family, to her mother, and sisters, and the boys. Why should she mind if her companion spoke of the poverty of her home to her school-fellows? she asked herself. The Reeds saw nothing to be ashamed of in connection with it, and, though the majority of the girls at Helmsford College were the children of wealthy parents, and it would certainly be humiliating to have her private affairs brought under discussion, she felt most disinclined to give way to Agnes Hosking.
Ah, but what she did mind was that Agnes would inform everybody that she was being educated at the expense of Dr. Reed—by charity, as she had said. There lay the sting. So kind and considerate had the Reeds been to her that her position in her new home had seemed quite natural, and the thought of being pointed at as an object for charity galled her immeasurably. Never before in her life had she experienced such a sense of keen humiliation, and she felt she should never be able to hold up her head at Helmsford College again if Agnes carried out her threat and told the girls that she was being educated by charity. How much did Agnes know? she wondered. Did she know that Dr. Reed paid all her expenses and even kept her supplied in pocket-money? Would she tell the girls that? Oh, it was unendurable even to contemplate it! She would do anything to prevent it.
"Well?" said Agnes interrogatively, at length. She had been watching the varying expressions which had flitted across her companion's telltale countenance with evident curiosity.
"If I get Ann to ask you to tea next Saturday will you promise not to meddle in my concerns?" asked Violet, rather shame-facedly.
"Oh, yes! I don't want to be nasty in any way," Agnes returned, with a gleam of triumph in her eyes. It was true, then, she thought, that Violet was being provided for by Dr. Reed. Her last letter from home had informed her that such was reported to be the case; now, Violet's behaviour set the matter beyond a doubt.
"Well, I will do as you wish," Violet told her, after a minute's hesitation.
"Oh, thank you!"
"You needn't thank me."
"You won't bear malice, Violet?" questioned Agnes, glancing rather doubtfully at her companion's gloomy countenance.
"You've said to me what I will never forgive," Violet answered deliberately, "but I'm not going to quarrel with you. I think you are the meanest girl I ever met, though, and I know I'm foolish to give in to you like this, but—but—"
She turned away with trembling lips and eyes dim with tears of mingled anger, shame, and humiliation. She was fully aware that she was acting foolishly and weakly; but public opinion meant so much to her, and she feared to jeopardize her position at Helmsford College. Her school-fellows were very friendly to her now, but who could tell what their treatment of her would be if they became aware that she was being provided for and educated by charity?
As soon as the game of hockey was over Ann joined Violet, and the two girls left the College grounds and turned homewards together. For a while Ann talked of the game and the various players, but by-and-by she remarked:—
"I saw you and Agnes Hosking together, but I fancied you did not look very pleased, Violet."
"No," Violet answered laconically, with a deep-drawn sigh. She longed to take Arm into her confidence, but she realised she could not do that after the promise she had made to Agnes. Already she was beginning to wish that promise had never been given. "Agnes tells me that she has spent all her Saturdays at the College so far," she continued, after a brief pause, "no one has asked her out to tea, and—and she put it to me that she would much like to come to tea with us. I wonder if Mrs. Reed would let us ask her, Ann?"
"Oh, yes," Ann replied readily, though she was decidedly surprised. "It is very kind of you to wish it, Violet, for I know you are not very fond of her," she added.
"I am not fond of her at all; but she has no friends in the place, and—and if you do not mind—" Violet broke off, and looked at her companion half deprecatingly, half appealingly.
"I do not mind at all," Ann asserted. "Agnes has always been most friendly to me, but I have kept her rather at a distance on account of what you told me of the way in which she used to treat you and your sisters. We'll ask her for next Saturday if mother agrees, shall we?"
"Thank you," said Violet, in a low voice which trembled slightly.
"You really wish it, don't you?" Ann asked, a puzzled expression crossing her face. Then, as Violet assented, she said: "Is there anyone else you would like to invite with Agnes, or shall we have her alone?"
"Oh, have her alone," replied Violet; "that will be the best way."
So it was settled, and the following day, Mrs. Reed's consent having been obtained, the invitation was given and accepted. In the letter which Violet wrote home in the evening, she mentioned that Agnes Hosking was coming to tea on Saturday, a piece of news which was received with great amazement by her sisters, Ruth openly avowing that she was sorry to hear it.
"Why should you be sorry, my dear?" asked Mrs. Wyndham, who had read Violet's letter aloud. It had arrived by the afternoon post, and was under discussion at the tea-table.
"Because I mistrust Agnes Hosking," Ruth promptly replied; "you cannot imagine how insufferably insolent she used to be to us at Miss Minter's, simply because she was a rich man's daughter and had plenty of money to spend whilst we were poor. I was so annoyed when she took Violet to her home—or, rather, I was annoyed on hearing about it afterwards. Violet ought not to have gone, but she was curious to see what the Hosking's house was like, she realised that Agnes only took her there to show off."
"Perhaps Agnes has improved," suggested Madge; "you know Violet has said in several of her letters that she seemed to wish to be friendly."
Ruth shook her head incredulously, for she had good reason to mistrust her old school-fellow, and many a slighting remark the arrogant girl had made to pain and annoy her returned to her memory. She considered Violet very foolish to have become intimate with Agnes Hosking, as she argued that she must have done if she was on sufficiently cordial terms with her to introduce her into the Reeds' home. She would have been shocked and dismayed had she known the true facts of the case; and as it was, she blamed Violet openly, and wondered how she could endure to cultivate the friendship of one who had sneered at her father—an unpardonable affront in Ruth's sight—and slighted her sisters and herself.
WHEN Violet awoke on the morning of the day on which Agnes Hosking was expected to tea, the rain was descending in torrents, and she hoped the weather would prove too bad for the visitor to come; but, to her secret disappointment, towards mid-day the sky began to clear, and by two o'clock the sun was shining and the rain had gone. At three o'clock Agnes appeared, accompanied by a junior governess, Miss Wilcocks, who left her at the doctor's door, according to Miss Orchardson's instruction.
"As though I was not to be trusted to walk the short distance from Helmsford College alone," Agnes muttered to herself, as she looked after Miss Wilcocks' retreating figure.
Ann and Violet met their visitor in the hall, and the former inquired if she would like to go for a walk before tea or if she would prefer to spend the time indoors.
"It has cleared up so nicely that we thought perhaps you'd like to be out in the sunshine," Ann said; "if so, there's a walk we might take you not fax from here—to Upcott Hill, from which one has a most lovely view, and—"
"Oh, I've been there on several occasions with Miss Wilcocks and some of the boarders," Agnes interrupted, "I'd much rather go into the town and have a good look at the shop windows."
"I'm afraid we cannot do that," Ann returned; "I'm sorry, but mother doesn't care for us to go into the town on Saturday afternoons without she is with us, because it is generally thronged with rough sort of folks, and to-day there is an important football match to be played here, and that always brings a lot of people to the place, so the streets will be crowded."
"If we can't go into the town I would as soon stay in the house," said Agnes, not attempting to disguise her disappointment. She thought Mrs. Reed was absurdly particular.
"Then come up to my room and take off your hat and jacket," Ann replied; "I'm afraid you're disappointed, Agnes, but you don't realise what the town is like on a Saturday afternoon. Come with us, Violet."
So the three girls went upstairs to Ann's room —a little room very similar to Violet's, with white enamelled furniture and a pretty, light wall paper. Agnes glanced around her with curious eyes, and, as soon as she had taken off her outdoor garments, she requested permission to look at the pictures and knick-knacks which ornamented the walls. Ann exhibited her treasured possessions with pleasure; they were most of them little presents which had been given to her by her parents at various times.
"This is where my grandmother lives," she said, indicating a framed photograph of a small, white-washed house, actually a cottage, with lattice windows and a strip of garden before it; "it faces the sea, and Granny spends a great part of her time in the summer sitting under the porch, knitting. She says knitting is her one accomplishment, she is very clever at it and makes all sorts of things—counterpanes, and curtains, and, of course, she always keeps father supplied with socks. She knitted my first socks, too, of fine thread; mother has them now, they are so pretty—like lace. When I look at that photograph I can picture Granny most vividly. She has splendid sight for her age, and can see a great distance; she loves to watch the vessels passing up and down the channel, and she knows such a lot about ships, and can tell such wonderful sea-stories—true ones."
Agnes stared at the photograph in silence, rather wondering that Ann should have pointed it out to her, for the cottage was such a very unpretentious dwelling. Why did Dr. Reed allow his mother to occupy such a humble abode? She could not imagine anyone living there from choice.
"Have you a grandmother, Agnes?" asked Violet, making a shrewd guess at what was passing through the visitor's mind, and anxious to prevent her putting her thoughts into words.
"Oh, yes! father's mother. She lives at Bath in a large house—a much larger house than this one—and she's very rich; my grandfather left her a lot of money when he died. I am to spend my Easter holidays with her."
"That will be nice for you," remarked Ann. "Bath is a very pretty place, I've heard. I suppose you are very fond of your grandmother?"
"Well, no, I cannot say I am," Agnes admitted, with a laugh; "she's an exceedingly cross old woman who says things—disagreeable things, you know—on purpose to hurt and annoy people."
Violet with difficulty repressed a smile, for she could not help thinking that Agnes must rather resemble her grandmother in disposition; she made no remark, but Ann said gravely:—
"I can never understand how any one can like to do that. What makes her so unkind?"
"I'm sure I don't know," Agnes answered, shrugging her shoulders, "it pleases her, I suppose; people put up with her, you know, because she has plenty of money, and she likes spending it. She gives me lots of presents. Look at this. She sent it to me on my last birthday."
Agnes produced a purse from her pocket as she spoke, and handed it to Ann.
It was a very handsome purse, evidently an expensive one, made of tortoise-shell with rims and clasp of gold.
"How pretty!" exclaimed Ann, and, having looked at the outside of it, she passed it to Violet who declared it was the most beautiful purse she had ever seen.
"Open it," said Agnes, "look at the inside."
Violet did so. The purse was lined with red morocco leather and contained a sovereign, several shillings, and a few coppers. It suddenly occurred to Violet that it was Agnes' intention to impress her with the sight of so much money—it seemed a great deal to Violet—and she shut the purse somewhat hastily and returned it to its owner, who slipped it into her pocket remarking that it was real tortoise-shell, and she believed her grandmother had given a good bit for it.
"I am sure she must have done so," said Ann, "especially if the rims and clasp are gold."
"Oh, they are," Agnes assured her, "real gold. Grandmother never buys anything that is not the best that can be had for money."
"Take care you do not get your pocket picked," advised Violet.
"Oh, I'll be careful that does not happen," Agnes returned, "but, to be on the safe side, I'll carry my purse in my muff on my way home so that it will be in my hand all the while. I'll not lose it, you may depend."
After that, Agnes, at her request, was shown Violet's bedroom; and then they went into the drawing-room, where the visitor met with a cordial reception from Mrs. Reed, who supposed her to be an especial friend of Violet's, having been told that she and Violet had attended the same school at Streatham, and made her take a chair by her side and talk to her.
Agnes thought Mrs. Reed very agreeable, and, being on her best behaviour herself, she made a not unfavourable impression upon her hostess.
For the time present, at any rate, Agnes had laid aside her arrogant manner, and perhaps the company in which she found herself had a beneficial influence over her, for she talked without any attempt to be boastful, and even Violet was obliged to admit to herself that Agnes could be nice if she liked.
By-and-by tea was brought in and a plentiful supply of sweet cakes such as school girls love, and, whilst the young people were regaling themselves on these dainties, Dr. Reed returned home and came upstairs to the drawing-room. He was introduced to Agnes, who was secretly delighted to make the acquaintance of the popular doctor; but he did not stay long, merely remaining to drink a cup of tea and eat a slice of bread and butter, laughingly waving aside the cakes his daughter would have pressed upon him.
The afternoon slipped quickly away—too quickly to please Agnes. Miss Wilcocks would call for her at half past six o'clock, she explained to her companions, and she must have her outdoor things on by that time so as not to keep the governess waiting.
"Oh, it's only just six, so you needn't hurry," said Ann, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, "I want you to come downstairs and look at my birds. I have several canaries, they are so tame that they will feed from my hand."
Accordingly she led the way downstairs, Violet and Agnes following, and, after inspecting the birds in their cage on a table before the dining-room window, Agnes said, with real regret, that she thought now she really must get ready to go.
"Perhaps you ought," agreed Ann; "you must come again another Saturday afternoon," she added, hospitably.
"Thank you," Agnes answered, looking very pleased; "I have had a very enjoyable time."
As they were crossing the hall they met Polly, the tweeny-maid, on her way to answer the front door-bell, and, expecting Miss Wilcocks had arrived, they lingered to ascertain if such was the case. It was not Miss Wilcocks on the doorstep, however, but Lottie Medland, who had brought a parcel containing some needlework which her sister had been entrusted to do for Mrs. Reed. Ann hurried forward immediately, and invited her to come in; but Lottie demurred shyly, and stood hesitating in the doorway.
"Mother is at home, and I am sure she will like to see you, Lottie," Ann said kindly; "besides, you will want to take Malvina the money for her work, will you not?"
Accordingly Lottie came in and took a seat in the hall, whilst the servant closed the front door. Agnes and Violet had disappeared, so Ann, having told Lottie she would not be kept waiting long, followed them upstairs, pausing at the drawing-room door to inform her mother of Lottie's arrival. By that time someone else was at the front door, and, as Ann crossed the landing, she recognised Miss Wilcocks' voice inquiring if Miss Hosking was ready to leave.
"Miss Wilcocks has come," she said, entering her bedroom where Agnes had already put on her hat and jacket, and, gloves in hand, was in conversation with Violet.
"Has she? Then I must go," Agnes declared. She took up her muff from the bed as she spoke, and left the room with the others.
In the hall they found Mrs. Reed talking to Miss Wilcocks, whilst Lottie Medland, who had risen from her chair, waited at a little distance. Agnes made a neat little speech to Mrs. Reed, thanking her for a pleasant afternoon, then goodbyes were exchanged, and governess and pupil took their departure.
"Now I am at liberty to have a word with you, Lottie," Mrs. Reed remarked, with a kind smile, as she opened the parcel which Lottie had handed to her and looked at its contents. "Yes, this is quite right," she proceeded, "and the sewing is excellent, as usual. I am glad to tell you that I have succeeded in obtaining an order for Malvina, from a friend of mine, for some plain needlework. I hope to find time to see her about it next week. Will you tell her so?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Lottie, "she will be glad—oh, very glad!"
She spoke in a flurried tone, and glanced around her nervously. As soon as she had received the money for the work she had brought she moved towards the door. Seeing she was evidently ill at ease neither Mrs. Reed nor Ann attempted to detain her longer, but they were both surprised at her manner, and the latter wondered if she suspected them of knowing the trouble she had given her people; it really looked as though she did.
Meanwhile Miss Wilcocks and Agnes Hosking had returned to Helmsford College, and, ten minutes subsequently, the latter, looking much perturbed, sought Miss Orchardson, and, having found her in her private sitting-room, informed her that she had left her purse at Dr. Reed's.
"How very careless of you!" exclaimed Miss Orchardson. "Is there much money in it?"
"One pound, seven shillings, and five pence half-penny," Agnes responded glibly; "it is a very expensive purse, one my grandmother gave me," she hastened to add.
"Then you should have taken better care of it," Miss Orchardson observed, with some severity.
"Yes," Agnes agreed; "please, may I go back and fetch it?"
"Certainly not. Where did you leave it?"
"On Ann Reed's bed," was the unhesitating reply.
"On Ann Reed's bed! How came you to leave it there?"
"I was afraid of having my pocket picked, so I put my purse into my muff when I went upstairs for my outdoor things, and the muff was on the bed. When I took up my muff I forgot about my purse, and I suppose it slipped out."
"You suppose? It may not have done so. You very probably lost it in the street."
"No," Agnes replied, shaking her head decidedly, "I am quite sure I did not. If the purse had been in my muff when I put my hands into it I should have felt it, and I should remember having done so; but I am positive it was not there, and I never thought of it till I was putting away my outdoor things just now. Oh, I feel certain that it is on Ann's bed!"
Agnes had been filled with dismay when she had found that her purse was not in her possession, for her first idea had been that she had lost it; but, on second thoughts, she had been confident she had not done that, and therefore she had come to Miss Orchardson to request that she might be permitted to return to Laureston Square in search of it.
"Are you really certain that the purse was not in your muff when you left the Reed's house?" the head mistress inquired, after a brief deliberation.
"Yes," Agnes returned positively; "I believe it must be on Ann's bed. I remember I snatched up my muff hurriedly when I heard Miss Wilcocks had come for me, and my purse must have slipped out then."
"I will send and make inquiries. But remember, if it is lost it is entirely your own fault, you should have taken proper care of it. If the purse is anywhere in the Reeds' house, you will get it again; if not, I shall conclude that you lost it on your way home."
Thus it was that, between eight and nine o'clock that same evening, a messenger from Helmsford College arrived at the doctor's house in Laureston Square, with a note from Miss Orchardson to Mrs. Reed explaining that Agnes Hosking considered she had left her purse on Ann's bed, and requesting that, if she had done so, it might be entrusted to the bearer of the note. But no purse was to be found on the bed or anywhere else in Ann's room, and a message to that effect was sent back to Helmsford College.
"She must have lost it," said Violet decidedly, when she was discussing the matter with Mrs. Reed and Ann, after the departure of the messenger; "I saw her slip it into her muff before she put on her hat and jacket. Depend upon it she lost it going home."
"Perhaps to-morrow it may be found on the staircase or in the hall," suggested Ann, "we must all keep our eyes open for it, and the servants must be careful in shaking the mats. I wish she had not brought the purse with her this afternoon. By the way, Violet, did you notice what money was in it?"
"Yes," assented Violet, "there was a sovereign, some shillings, and some coppers. She told me to open the purse or I should not have done so."
"Of course not!" said Ann quickly, noticing that Violet had flushed sensitively.
"I am sorry the purse contained so much money," said Mrs. Reed, who was looking rather troubled, "for, though she apparently believes she left it here, I fancy she has lost it out-of-doors, in which case it is most unlikely that she will get it again; and, apart from the money, I have no doubt that she sets great store on the purse, as it was, you tell me, a gift from her grandmother."
"I think she values it more because it is very handsome and cost a good bit," said Ann gravely, exchanging a meaning glance with Violet. "I hope it will be found," she continued, "but if she had left it on my bed it would be there still. Who would take it away?"
This was an unanswerable question. It was felt that Agnes had placed the members of the doctor's household in a very awkward position; for, if she had actually left her purse on the bed, what could have become of it? It must have been moved, but by whose hand?
"WELL?" It was Monday morning. The scene was the day-scholar's dressing-room at Helmsford College, and the speaker was Agnes Hosking. She had been eagerly awaiting the arrival of Ann Reed and Violet Wyndham, for the past half hour, to ascertain if her purse had been found, and now addressed them in a tone of inquiry.
"Well, we have brought you no news of your purse, Agnes, I'm sorry to say," Ann replied; "you couldn't have left it in our house, because we've searched for it everywhere, and it's not to be found. I'm afraid you lost it in the street."
"That I am sure I did not," Agnes declared, decidedly. She was rather a nice-looking girl, as a rule; but sometimes her countenance was marred by an unpleasant expression, and it was now.
"You must have done so," Violet said, a trifle impatiently; "I remember seeing you put it in your muff—"
"Of course you did, I saw you watching me," Agnes interrupted; "but I believe the purse dropped out when I took my muff up from the bed."
"I don't 'think it could have done so," said Ann gravely; "and I don't think you should say so," she added, regarding Agnes with a look of distinct disapproval in her grey eyes.
"Why not?" queried Agnes.
"Because, if you left the purse in our house, what do you imagine has become of it?" Ann asked, anxiously. Then, as Agnes made no response, she continued: "Father is coming to see Miss Orchardson about it by-and-by, I believe he is going to suggest having some bills printed—giving a description of the purse and offering a reward for it—and placarded about the town. He thinks there might be a chance of your getting it again that way."
"Yes, unless it has been stolen—" Agnes was beginning when the expression of Ann's face, an expression of intense indignation, caused her to stop suddenly in some confusion.
"Agnes, you cannot realise what you are saying," Violet said sternly, "who would steal your purse?"
"Oh, I suppose some people would consider it worth stealing!" Agnes returned, with a disagreeable laugh and a toss of her head. "But, there, perhaps after all I've lost it—though I don't believe I have. It's very vexatious anyway, whether it's lost or stolen."
"Yes, it most certainly is," Violet answered; "but there's no one to blame, unless it is yourself for not having been more careful of such a valuable object." There was a scornful intonation in Violet's voice as she spoke.
Two or three day-scholars, who had been listening to the conversation, now drew nearer, and began to ask questions. Agnes immediately turned her attention to them, and told them of her loss, whilst Ann and Violet took off their hats and jackets and hung them on their accustomed pegs against the dressing-room wall. There was an unwonted look of severity on Ann's face, and Violet's brown eyes were sparkling with anger.
Later in the day Dr. Reed called and had an interview with Miss Orchardson, as a result of which the next morning the hoardings of the town were decorated with bills which read as follows:—
"Lost, on Saturday, March 16th, between No. 8 Laureston Square and Helmsford College, a tortoise-shell purse with gold clasp and rims, and lined with red morocco leather, containing money—amount known. Whoever will return the same to Miss Orchardson, Helmsford College, will be handsomely rewarded."
"If the purse has fallen into honest hands it will be returned," Ann remarked, as she paused with Violet to read the bill, "if otherwise, I suppose Agnes will always believe that she left it at our house. Do you imagine that she thinks one of the servants has it?" she asked anxiously.
"I don't know, I'm sure," Violet answered; "I'm almost afraid she does."
"Our servants are such honest, respectable girls, too!" Ann cried, really distressed. "I cannot think how Agnes can be so persistent in declaring she did not lose the purse in the street; I consider, to say the least of it, that it is very inconsiderate of her, for she must see that she puts us all in a very awkward position."
"She only thinks of herself," said Violet, in a troubled tone; "I wish we had not asked her to tea. It was my doing, but—"
She broke off and heaved a regretful sigh, whilst Ann said quickly:—
"Never mind; you did it for the best, out of the kindness of your heart. You felt she had no friends in the place, and you were sorry for her. Don't blame yourself; you could not possibly foresee that anything disagreeable would happen."
Violet turned her head aside that her companion might not observe her guilty flush, and her eyes filled with tears. It was like Ann to think better of her than she deserved, she told herself, for Ann was quick to credit others with good intentions. What would Ann say, she wondered, if she knew what had influenced her really to procure an invitation for Agnes Hosking to spend an afternoon at No. 8 Laureston Square? Would she despise her? Violet feared that she would.
Several days passed, and no one returned the purse. Agnes was sorry, for she was most desirous to regain possession of it, especially as she was to visit her grandmother at Easter, and would probably be blamed for having lost it; but, at the same time, she felt rather triumphant, for if it had been proved that she had dropped the purse out-of-doors, everyone would have been in the position to say 'I told you so,' and that would have made her look very small, for she had been so positive in stating that it had not been in her muff when she had left No. 8 Laureston Square.
The more she turned the matter over in her mind the more certain she became that the purse had been stolen from the doctor's house—from Ann's room; but her suspicion, which she had fixed on someone, did not rest upon one of the servants, as Ann imagined. For a while she kept her suspicion to herself, nor daring to put it into words; but there came a day, towards the end of the term, when she whispered it, in confidence, to a couple of her class-mates.
The two she had chosen to make her confidantes were not ill-natured girls; but they proved unable to keep a secret, and repeated what she had said to them to several others, and very soon it was known by the majority of the pupils at Helmsford College that Violet Wyndham was suspected by Agnes Hosking of having stolen the missing tortoise-shell purse. It was not said openly, however, and the term ended, and the school broke up for the Easter holidays without either Ann or Violet guessing the suspicion which had been so unscrupulously attached to the latter.
Easter was late that year, towards the end of April, and the weather during the holidays was mild and sunny. Violet now saw something of the neighbourhood surrounding Barford, for Mrs. Reed took her and Ann for several trips to various places of interest in the district; and one day they spent with the Garret girls at old Mrs. Garret's beautiful home, which was situated in the midst of some of the most romantic scenery in Yorkshire.
Cicely and Clara Garret were quiet, rather delicate girls, with the pale complexions and languid ways of Indian-born children. They had heard the story which had been whispered at school against Violet Wyndham, but neither of them put the least credence in it; they had discussed the advisability of speaking to Ann upon the subject, but had decided not to do so, hoping the matter would blow over by another term. Both of them liked Violet greatly, perhaps because she was so different from themselves, so full of life and high spirits, and, from the fact of knowing the report which had been spread about her, they made so much of her and treated her so very kindly when she visited them with Mrs. Reed and Ann that she could not but be flattered by their behaviour.
Violet's letters to her own people, at this period, were full of contentment. It did indeed seem to her that her lines had fallen in pleasant places. Yes, she was very, very happy. And then, there dawned a day when an unexpected joy come to her, and she sought Mrs. Reed and Ann and imparted to them the wonderful news that the opportunity for which her father had been working and waiting so long had come at last; he had obtained a post with a really good salary as editor of an important newspaper.
"I've had a letter from father himself," Violet told them, half crying, half laughing in her excitement; "and mother has written, too. She is so delighted, and she says I shall hear from Ruth to-morrow. Oh, Mrs. Reed, oh, Ann, I can hardly believe it is true! It's the first piece of really good luck that has come our way!"
"Oh, my dear, don't speak like that," expostulated Mrs. Reed, "don't call it luck; I don't like that word at all; for there's One above who orders our lives for us, and now He is going to allow your father to reap the fruit of his years of labour, don't put it down to luck. I thank God for your father's success, and you will not forget to thank Him, too, will you, my dear?"
"No," Violet answered, in a low, serious voice, impressed by the tender gravity of Mrs. Reed's look and tone; "oh, I am thankful, very thankful!"
"So am I, and I am so very, very glad," Ann said; and she put her arms around Violet's neck and kissed her, and Violet returned the caress warmly, feeling herself to be the happiest girl in the world.
The next morning brought a long letter from Ruth, who spoke of her father with her usual loving pride. She had always been sure that some day his great abilities would be recognised, she wrote, and already he was looking younger and brighter than she had ever known him. "We shall be much better off, now, dear Vi," Violet read, "but, of course, we shall not be rich people, and there are several debts owing which it will take father some time to clear off, so we must continue to live quietly. At first, when father accepted this new appointment, mother talked of moving into a larger house and keeping a second servant, but father pointed out to her that that would not be wise, at any rate at present, because the boys will be growing more expensive every year, and we ought not to live up to our income if we can help it—we haven't been able to help it so far. So we are going to remain on here—I am sure it will be for the best, though mother is a little disappointed—and father says we ought to be very comfortable now we shall have more money to make things nice."
"There is a talk of our all going away for a holiday, in August, whilst the house is being repapered and repainted throughout, that would be a great treat for us all, wouldn't it? And then you would be with us, and we would go to some pretty place by the sea where we could all have a good time together. Oh, I think it's a splendid idea! And oh, dear Vi, I do indeed think things are going to be easier for us at home now. I used to feel, sometimes, that God had forgotten us—that He didn't care how hard father worked or how he tried to get on. I hope it wasn't very wicked of me, for I know we always had a lot to be thankful for, but father used to earn so little for all he did—he'll still have to work very hard, of course, but as he says 'Remuneration sweetens Labour' and he won't be working with the feeling that he isn't properly paid."
Violet experienced a slight sensation of disappointment on reading her elder sister's letter, for she had allowed her imagination to run away with her and had pictured a general exodus from the little Streatham home to a larger, grander abode. It had seemed to her, because her father had obtained a really good appointment, that his fortune was made; but now she began to realise that this was far from being the case. However, her disappointment did not last long, and by-and-by it was quite lost in the pleasure the anticipation of joining her family by the sea-side in the August holidays gave her.
"Agnes Hosking will be sure to hear the good news about father," she remarked to Ann, "she won't be able to sneer at him again. Ours is not such a bad little house at Streatham after all," she allowed, "I daresay it can be made rather nice; but, you see, we never used to have any money to spend on it. Things will be different now."
"Oh, yes," acquiesced Ann, "of course they will."
It touched Violet to see how thoroughly the Reeds entered into her joy, and her sense of gratitude towards them deepened. What good friends they were to her, and how she had grown to love them—the kindly doctor with his big generous heart; Mrs. Reed with her sound common sense and wide sympathies; and Ann—Prosperity's child, as Mrs. Wyndham had named her—who never forgot those less favoured with this world's goods than herself, and made allowances for everyone's shortcomings with that saving grace of charity which thinketh no evil.
Thus, in almost unalloyed happiness, the Easter holidays slipped by for Violet Wyndham, and in the first week of May she returned, with Ann Reed, to Helmsford College to take up her school-life again, utterly unconscious of the cloud of suspicion which already overshadowed her, and with no presentiment of trouble to come.
IT was the first Saturday afternoon of the summer term, and the boarders at Helmsford College, with a few of the day-scholars, were spending it in the College grounds, amusing themselves in various ways, the majority playing games whilst the less energetic girls sat talking or reading on the seats which were placed in shady spots commanding views of the tennis courts and croquet lawn.
Agnes Hosking had been engaged in a set of tennis, but it had come to an end, and she now sought a seat with the intention of resting after her exertions. Looking about her she caught sight of Arm Reed and Clara Garret together, and went to join them. They politely made room for her between them on the seat on which they were sitting, and Clara remarked:—
"We've been watching you, Agnes; you play tennis remarkably well. I suppose you must have had a great deal of practice?"
"Oh, yes," Agnes rejoined, her expression one of gratification, "I used to belong to a tennis club at Streatham last year, and I've played a great deal these holidays."
"Did you visit your grandmother at Bath?" inquired Ann.
"Yes, for ten days. The remainder of the holidays I spent at home."
"I wonder if you saw anything of Violet's people?" said Ann; "they live near you, do they not?"
"Fairly near. I saw Ruth and Madge Wyndham—I met them, in fact, but I didn't speak to them. They seemed to wish to avoid speaking to me, which was not surprising—considering all things." And Agnes smiled enigmatically.
"Considering all things?" echoed Ann; "I don't understand what you mean. I have heard, though, that you used not to get on well with Ruth Wyndham," she continued, with a touch of coldness in her tone, "Violet told me that."
"Did she?" Agnes looked slightly taken aback for a minute, then she went on: "We were never friends, certainly; we had nothing in common. The fact is, Ruth Wyndham is one of those reserved, proud sort of girls who make few friends. And what has she to be proud of, I should like to know? She is not bad looking, I admit; but she's always shabbily dressed, and I hear that, now she's left school, they make a regular drudge of her at home."
"How hard for her!" exclaimed Clara Garret, pityingly. "Are the Wyndhams so very poor, then, Ann? I did not know that."
"Oh, they are poor enough," Agnes returned quickly, though she was not the one addressed; "they live in a small villa and only keep one servant—I saw her cleaning the doorstep one day and she was such an untidy creature!—and Mrs. Wyndham wears gowns seasons old, and looks as though she had the cares of the world on her shoulders."
"Somehow I never thought of Violet Wyndham's people as poor," said Clara, her countenance showing plainly her great surprise.
"She looks flourishing, doesn't she?" said Agnes, with a sarcastic smile. "Look at her now! Hear her laughing!"
Violet was playing tennis, and, as Agnes spoke, her clear laugh rang out full of merriment. In her plain blue serge skirt and white blouse, with her luxuriant brown hair waving over her shoulders, and her face aglow with enjoyment, she made a very attractive picture, and Clara exclaimed, with genuine admiration:
"How lovely she is! Yes, really lovely with that bright colour in her cheeks and her sparkling brown eyes! I coil her one of the prettiest girls in the school, and she has such a winning way with her, too. My grandmother was quite charmed with her that day you brought her to see us, Ann."
"I am glad of that," Ann said, looking very pleased; "most people like Violet. We are all very fond of her at home."
"By the way, is it true that your father is paying her fees for her education here?" asked Agnes, bluntly, her gaze fixed with undisguised curiosity upon Ann.
Ann started and coloured. Her eyes had been following Violet's movements, but now she turned them upon Agnes, and looked her straight in the face.
"Had you not better inquire of Miss Orchardson?" she said, her voice betraying the annoyance she felt; "not that I think Miss Orchardson would gratify your ill-bred curiosity any more than I intend to do," she added scornfully.
"Well, don't be angry at my asking you, I meant no harm," Agnes faltered; "you are so touchy." She was secretly furious because Ann had called her question ill-bred, but she was most undesirous of having a serious fall out with her. "They say at home that your father is providing for Violet Wyndham and educating her at his own expense," she continued, "and, if he is, I call it most kind and generous of him, for she must cost him a pretty penny. But I much doubt if she's as grateful as she ought to be. She thinks too much of herself—all the Wyndhams do. You may call her one of the prettiest girls in the school, Clara, but 'handsome is as handsome does,' and you know my opinion of Violet Wyndham!" So saying, she rose, laughed disagreeably and meaningly, and marched away.
"What does she intend us to understand by that?" asked Ann, in bewilderment, glancing inquiringly at her companion who was looking very distressed; "what does she mean?"
"I—I don't know," stammered Clara, the colour flooding her usually pale cheeks. "Oh, dear me, that's not true," she said, as she met the direct gaze of the other's honest eyes, "but I hate to tell you about it. How can Agnes be so horrid and—and ungenerous! She's jealous of Violet because she's better looking and more popular than herself."
"What are you talking of, Clara?" questioned Ann, her bewilderment deepening; "what is there to tell me? I must know. Come, do speak out."
"I wonder you didn't hear it last term!" exclaimed Clara, in agitated tones. "Cicely and I thought of telling you in the holidays, we thought you ought to know, but—but—"
"I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about," Ann declared, "please do explain. It has something to do with Violet and Agnes Hosking, I suppose?"
"Yes. Agnes suspects Violet of — oh, you mustn't think that either Cicely or I believe it—of having taken her purse."
For a few minutes there was dead silence after this. Every vestige of colour had left Ann's face, and she appeared too shocked to speak. She sat quite still, staring straight in front of her, seeing nothing; but, by-and-by, she turned her eyes upon her companion again and said in a trembling voice:—
"Tell me all you know."
"I will," Clara responded, "though there's really little to tell. Agnes says that Violet had a better opportunity of taking her purse than anyone else, for she saw her put it into her muff and she was the last to leave your bedroom when you three went downstairs after Miss Wilcocks had arrived. Was that so?"
"Yes," assented Ann, after a brief reflection.
"Well, Agnes thinks that Violet probably saw the purse drop out of her muff on to the bed and remained behind to secure it—"
"It is cruel and wicked of Agnes to suggest such a thing!" Ann broke in, passionately. "What good would the purse be to Violet? She could never use it!"
"No, of course she could not; but there was a sovereign in it, and several shillings, and—oh, don't look at me so reproachfully! Do you imagine that I suspect Violet of being a thief, too? No, no, indeed I do not! Both Cicely and I like her and trust her, let me assure you of that."
"Do many of the girls believe this story against her, Clara?"
"Well, some do, but a great many do not. I daresay she'll never hear it herself; I'm sure I hope she won't, for it would make her very unhappy. Is it really true that her people are so poor?"
"They have been rather badly off, hitherto; but it will be different for them in future, if all goes well. Mr. Wyndham has lately accepted a very good appointment as editor of one of the best paying papers in London."
"Oh, I am glad!" Clara exclaimed heartily; "I suppose Agnes does not know that?"
"I expect not. Oh, Clara, I am so grieved at what you have told me! I don't know what I ought to do about it."
"I am afraid there is nothing to be done," returned Clara, with a grave shake of her head.
"I am really afraid there is not," agreed Ann. "It has often crossed my mind that Agnes might suspect one of our servants of having taken her purse, and that was bad enough, but this—oh, this is dreadful! I call it positively wicked to speak of a suspicion, specially one based on such slight grounds. I wonder if I had better speak to Agnes about it?"
"I should not; I should let her go. She does not actually say that Violet has stolen her purse, only that she suspects her of having done so, and she says she has a right to think what she likes. My opinion is that she did not mean this story, which she has trumped up against Violet, to become so generally known, for she told it as a secret in the first place; of course it did not remain a secret long, then she got frightened—I know she did because she tried to hush the matter up—but she couldn't take back her words. She allowed her temper to get the better of her discretion when she spoke of Violet as she did just now."
"Do you think she really suspects Violet of having stolen her purse?" asked Ann; and the expression of deep concern and anxiety on her face was intensified as her companion nodded assent.
At that point their conversation was interrupted by Violet herself, who joined them in the best of spirits. She and her partner had won the set of tennis they had been playing, and she was pleased and triumphant on that account. With her customary quickness she noticed that both Ann and Clara looked embarrassed, and she jumped to the conclusion that they had been talking about her, and, in consequence, when she and Ann were walking home together, a half hour later, she said:—
"I saw Agnes Hosking sitting with you and Clara—she has scarcely deigned to notice me this term, by the way—and I thought she appeared to be watching me and discussing me, was she? I always feel uneasy when her eyes are upon me."
"Why?" asked Ann, quickly, with a keen glance at her companion.
"Well, I hardly know why, but I think it is because she has such a malicious tongue and I'm rather afraid of it," was the reply.
"I cannot imagine why you should be," Ann said, in a troubled tone, "but I remember you seemed quite upset the first day of last term when you found Agnes was at Helmsford College; afterwards, though, you appeared to get on with her fairly well. Has she been disagreeable to you in any way lately?"