"No, oh, no! She has taken no notice of me this term, as I told you just now, but I am always afraid she will set the girls against me, I know she is quite capable of doing that. In some way or other I must have put her out, for, though I've spoken to her twice, she hasn't answered me; but I can't think what I have done to offend her. I'm sure I've done all I can to please her—even to getting you to ask her to tea."
"I wish you had not done that!" Ann exclaimed involuntarily.
"So do I," Violet responded, with a sigh.
There was a brief pause during which Ann studied her companion's countenance with troubled eyes. Why did Violet appear so uneasy? Oh, surely Agnes' suspicion of her could not be correct. Ann put the thought away, and blamed herself for having admitted it into her mind for a moment, but it returned when Violet, speaking in a low, hesitating voice, went on to say:—
"You don't know what a weak character I am, Ann; if you did you'd despise me, I'm sure. I can't think of that afternoon Agnes Hosking came to tea with us without the bitterest regret and humiliation."
"Oh, Violet," faltered Ann, "won't you explain to me what you mean?"
"I can't now, perhaps I may some day," Violet answered; and after that she changed the conversation.
During the remainder of the day, and for many days subsequently, Ann was in a most unhappy frame of mind, whilst, for the first time in her life, she shrank from taking her mother into her confidence. On hearing from Clara Garret of the tale against Violet, which was being whispered throughout the school, she had utterly disbelieved in the possibility of its truth; but Violet, by her words and mariner, had caused an ugly doubt to enter her mind.
Had Violet been assailed by a sudden temptation and given way to it? Then, believing she had been sending home part of her pocket-money to Ruth, Ann began to ask herself where she had procured the money to purchase the tennis racquet which she had bought on the first day of the term. Poor Ann was very wretched indeed, for she had grown to love Violet with a deep, sisterly affection, and it was the keenest pain to doubt her integrity.
Meanwhile, Violet was becoming conscious that the manner of many of her school-fellows had changed towards her. The Garrets remained as friendly as ever; but several of her class-mates treated her with decided coolness, whilst Agnes Hosking never spoke to her at all. And then she found out that the circumstances under which she was living with the Reeds and was being educated at Helmsford College had become public property, and she put down the difference in the behaviour of the girls to that fact; no doubt Agnes had informed them that she was being educated by charity, she thought bitterly. If she had taken Ann into her confidence at this time much unhappiness might have been saved, but she did nothing of the kind; and Ann, observing that something was weighing on Violet's mind, grew more and more troubled herself. Thus the commencement of the summer term was overshadowed for the two girls.
ONE afternoon, on Ann and Violet's return from school, they found Dr. Elizabeth Ridgeway in the drawing-room with Mrs. Reed, having tea. Dr. Elizabeth smiled as she observed the expression of astonishment which flitted across Violet's face at sight of her, and she said with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes:—
"I suppose it is rather wonderful to find me sipping tea in a leisurely fashion at this hour; but I'm as fond of my tea as most women, I think, though I'm generally obliged to forego the luxury of dawdling over it. Well, my dears, how are you?"
Both girls declared themselves very well. They were pleased to see Dr. Elizabeth, and their countenances plainly denoted the fact. Mrs. Reed gave them their tea, and, whilst they were drinking it, Dr. Elizabeth told Violet that she had heard of her father's appointment, and mentioned the paper in which she had seen it announced, adding that Mr. Wyndham's capabilities were spoken of in most eulogistic terms.
"Oh, how glad I am to hear that!" Violet cried, her face lighting up with a smile of intense gratification.
"Dr. Elizabeth has saved the paper for you, my dear," said Mrs. Reed; "she is going to send it to you. You will like to have it, will you not?"
"Indeed I shall," Violet replied. "Thank you, Dr. Elizabeth."
"I should have brought it with me had I known I was coming here when I started from home this afternoon," remarked Dr. Elizabeth; "but I did not anticipate that I should be anywhere in this direction. My first visit was to poor Malvina Medland who has been in bed for the past fortnight—"
"Oh, we did not know that," interposed Ann, in accents of much concern; "excuse my having interrupted you, Dr. Elizabeth," she continued hurriedly, "I hope Malvina is not very ill?"
"She is not dangerously ill, but she is in great pain, and much troubled about her sister, who has been causing her and her mother a great deal of anxiety again."
"Do you mean that Lottie has been betting?" questioned Violet.
"I do."
"Oh, dear," sighed Ann; "we quite thought she had given up that altogether. You spoke to her about it, did you not, Dr. Elizabeth?"
"Yes. I had a very serious talk with her and pointed out the misery her conduct would bring about if she persisted in it; she appeared to see it all and promised me not to act so foolishly and wickedly in the future. It seems that she really kept her word for some weeks, but during the last month or so she has been betting again, with the result that she has squandered most of her earnings. And now Malvina is so ill that she is unable to do anything, and consequently they are dependent upon Mrs. Medland's wages for their daily bread. Poor Malvina! Her sufferings are very great at times; she is obliged to lie in bed altogether to rest her back. I feel great sympathy for her, and for Mrs. Medland too; they are in a sorry plight, and my visit to Mrs. Reed this afternoon is really to ask her to help them. I want her to go and see Malvina."
"Of course she will!" Ann exclaimed, with certainty in her tone.
"Yes," Mrs. Reed assented readily, "I am going to-morrow, and cook shall make some nice, strong beef tea for the poor girl. I have been wondering why she has not sent back the last lot of needlework I gave her to do; I had no idea that she was laid up again."
"Do you think she is too ill to see Violet and me?" asked Ann.
"On the contrary, I believe a visit from you young folks would do her a lot of good," Dr. Elizabeth replied; "she is certainly better than she was a few days ago, but every attack of illness she has weakens her so greatly that she never quite regains the amount of strength she had before."
"We will go to see her on Saturday," Ann declared decidedly; "won't we, Violet? You will come with me, I know."
"Yes," Violet agreed, somewhat reluctantly, for she shrank from witnessing suffering, and Dr. Elizabeth had given them to understand that Malvina was in great pain.
"I think it's shocking about Lottie," said Ann; "whatever will become of her, Dr. Elizabeth?"
"I cannot say," the lady doctor answered sadly; "the girl's head seems quite turned by this gambling mania. I fear she is under the influence of bad companions, judging from all accounts; her occupation brings her in contact with those who you may depend do their utmost to lead her astray. Next to drink, betting is the greatest curse in England, especially in large towns like this where bookmakers have their agents everywhere. Do, you two young people, go and see Malvina by all means, you'll find her wonderfully cheerful considering the circumstances of her lot; there's a brave Christian soul in that misshapen body of hers, and she bears her cross without complaint."
Thus it came about that the following Saturday morning, about eleven o'clock, found Ann and Violet standing at the door of the house where the Medlands lived, waiting for an answer to the former's knock. Presently the door was opened by a girl, who might have been any age from twelve to sixteen, clad in a neat print gown and a big apron. She had a slight, childish figure, and a face which looked prematurely old; and she held a hat in her hand as though she was about to put it on to go out.
"We have come to see Malvina Medland, if you please," said Ann, as she surveyed the trim little body before her, wondering who she could be; "we know she is ill, but I think she might like to see us."
"Please, miss, are you Dr. Reed's daughter?" questioned the small person, her shrewd eyes fixed on Ann's face.
"Yes," assented Ann, with the smile of good-will which few people were able to withstand.
"Then will you please to go straight upstairs. Dr. Elizabeth told me you'd most likely be here to-day, and Malvina's expecting you. 'Grace,' said she to me, 'I've visitors coming, two young ladies as I had tea with once.' She'd have been dreadfully disappointed, I can tell you, if you hadn't come."
"I suppose you are a neighbour?" questioned Ann.
"No, miss. I live in another street—ten minutes' walk from here. Dr. Elizabeth's engaged me for an hour every morning and every afternoon to see to Malvina whilst she's ill; I'm not a sick-nurse by profession, but I can turn my hand anyway, and I'd do almost anything to oblige Dr. Elizabeth. Well, I must be off, now."
"But do you leave Malvina in bed with the street door unlocked?" asked Violet, aghast at the idea.
"Dear me, yes, miss. I don't suppose the street door is ever locked, for that matter; you know there are other families living in the house besides the Medlands. Bless you, Malvina won't come to any harm, and there's nothing much for anyone to steal. Go straight upstairs, you'll find Malvina ready to receive you."
So saying the small person stepped out into the street, and, placing her hat on her head, marched off. She walked with remarkably long steps for her size, and she never looked back. Ann and Violet watched her out of sight, then they exchanged amused glances and laughed, and the former said:—
"Why, Vi, depend upon it that is the little girl of whom Dr. Elizabeth spoke so highly, the one who goes out charing, you know."
"I expect so," replied Violet; "what a funny little creature she is!"
Entering the house they closed the street door behind them, then went up the steep stairs and stopped on the first landing.
"This way, please!" cried a feeble voice, which they recognised as Malvina's, "I'm in here."
"In here" proved to be a little back room, not much larger than a good-sized cupboard, with a bed in one corner, on which the sick girl lay. She received her visitors with a bright, welcoming smile, and assured them, in answer to their sympathetic inquiries, that she was really better.
"It's so kind of you to come," she said, gratefully. "Dr. Elizabeth said she thought you would, and your mother, Miss Ann, told me when she was here yesterday that you meant to come. I am so very glad to see you. Please to sit down."
There was but one chair in the room, and that a very ricketty one. Ann motioned to Violet to take it, whilst she perched herself on the edge of the bed and presented Malvina with a bunch of roses which she had brought for her, knowing her love for flowers.
"They came all the way from Devonshire, packed in damp moss," she explained, as Malvina took the nosegay with a cry of mingled admiration and delight, "and they grew in my grandmother's garden. Look at this white rose bud; is it not perfect? Granny will be so pleased when I write and tell her I gave the roses to you—the first roses of summer, I think they must be. I'm glad you like them, I can see that you do. Aren't they wonderfully fresh considering they have made such a long journey? They arrived by parcel post this morning, and, though they were a little drooping then, after they had been in water an hour they had quite revived."
"They are lovely," said Malvina, earnestly, "and their scent—oh, it's delicious! How good of you to give them to me!"
Whilst Ann continued to talk to Malvina, telling her the names of the roses and drawing her a word-picture of old Mrs. Reed's sea-side home, Violet was making good use of her eyes. What a poor room it was! Excepting the bed and the one chair there was no real furniture. An upturned box served for a wash-hand stand; there was no dressing-table, no set of drawers, no looking-glass. A pang of pity shot through Violet's heart mingled with a sense of shame. How often had she grumbled at the bedroom at home which she and Ruth had shared, and yet how comfortable it had been in comparison to this bare room! She was beginning to realise what it really meant to be poor.
By-and-by Violet turned her attention to her companions again. Malvina's eyes were still feasting on the roses, and there was a smile hovering around her lips—yes, actually a happy smile; and yet she had scarcely slept throughout the night on account of the pain which had racked her feeble frame.
"There's not a lady in the land better looked after than I am now I'm ill," she declared; "I've everything I want. Your mother brought me such nice, strengthening things to eat, Miss Ann; I've just had a cup of beef tea, which Grace Jones warmed for me. It's done me a lot of good."
"Is Grace Jones the girl we saw at the door?" inquired Ann.
"Yes, miss. Dr. Elizabeth's paying her for looking after me a bit; she generally comes for an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon, but she won't be here this afternoon because, as you know, the factories shut early on Saturdays, and mother will be at home to bear me company."
"You have been in bed a fortnight, haven't you?" said Violet.
"Yes, miss; but I hope to be about again soon. Dr. Elizabeth says I must have patience, for if I worry it keeps me from getting better."
"I daresay it does. I expect you have been having a very dull time, haven't you?"
"No, miss. I daresay this room strikes you as being dull, but I don't find it so. You see the window faces the east and I get the morning sun, which is a great blessing; and the sparrows are fine company, they wake up so early. I do love sparrows. Many a morning this past fortnight I've lain awake, in pain, listening to them, and you can't think how happy it's made me, and how it's comforted me to hear them twittering —I daresay you can guess why?"
"No," Violet answered, shaking her head.
"I think I can," Ann said softly, "they remind you of what our Saviour said about them, is it not so?"
"Yes," nodded Malvina, "I like to remember how He said, 'Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings and not one of them is forgotten before God.' And then I think if God is caring for them He is caring for me."
"To be sure," agreed Ann. "He cares for all of us, even if we do wrong and forget Him. Father told me the other day of a grand old soldier who, before he went into battle, always used to pray, 'Lord, if I forget Thee, do not Thou forget me.' I like that prayer, don't you?"
"Yes, indeed," rejoined the sick girl. A slight shadow had crossed her face, and now she said falteringly, "Oh, Miss Ann, I think my poor sister Lottie is one of those who have forgotten God. She has taken to betting again."
"Yes, Malvina, we know," Ann answered sadly, "and we are so very, very grieved."
"She's clean off her head, it seems to me, and I don't know what will be the end of her—it makes me shudder to think. I thought she had turned over a new leaf and was going to be a good, steady girl, she certainly gave up betting for the time; but now she's as bad about it as she was before. She's growing reckless and takes no notice of anything mother says—but, hush, here's mother!"
The door opened to admit a pale, weary-looking woman, whose face, however, brightened with a smile at the sight of her daughter's visitors. She thanked Ann and Violet most gratefully for having come to see Malvina, and admired the beautiful, Devonshire roses.
"Malvina's so fond of flowers," she said, "you couldn't have brought her any present she would like better, Miss Ann."
Not long after that Violet and Ann said good-bye to the invalid, and followed Mrs. Medland downstairs. They lingered for a few minutes talking with her in the kitchen, then started for home. Both girls were silent at first, their minds occupied with their own thoughts, but by-and-by Ann touched Violet on the arm and whispered:—
"There is Lottie Medland looking into the window of that newspaper shop."
Violet followed the direction of Ann's gaze and recognised Lottie, who was standing on tip-toes, endeavouring to look over the shoulders of a small crowd, comprised of men and women of all ages, congregated outside the shop in question.
"She is trying to read the telegram posted up against the window," said Ann; "oh, Violet, isn't it sad?"
"Sad?" echoed Violet, in astonishment; "why?"
"Because, for certain it's a telegram about some horse race or other."
Violet looked more scrutinisingly at the crowd, some members of which appeared exultant, others downcast, and then she saw Lottie Medland turn sharply away, with an expression of disappointment on her countenance, and join a girl of about her own age with whom she walked off—not homewards, however, but in the opposite direction. For some distance the two kept ahead of Violet and Ann, but by-and-by they disappeared into a dirty-looking shop, in the windows of which second-hand jewellery and clothing were exhibited for sale.
"It is a pawn shop," said Ann, as she and Violet passed by; "oh, poor Lottie, has it come to this with her! Oh, poor, poor girl!"
"She must have fallen very low," said Violet, in a tone of great disgust. "Come, Ann!" she exclaimed, rather impatiently, as her companion seemed inclined to linger, "you are not thinking of waiting to speak to her, surely! Let us go home. Such a wicked girl is not worth bothering about!"
"Oh, Violet, don't say that!"
There was grief and reproach in Ann's voice, and her eyes were full of tears. Violet had never seen her so moved before, and she gazed at her in astonishment. Why should she be so upset on account of this foolish, headstrong girl? Violet had never felt that love for humanity at large which springs from a love of God, and, though she was sorry for Mrs. Medland and Malvina in their trouble about Lottie, she certainly had but little if any sympathy for Lottie herself.
"What have I said that you should look so hurt and speak to me so reproachfully?" she asked, as they quickened their footsteps.
"You said Lottie was not worth bothering about. Oh, Violet, father was right when he said that we must not be too hard on her—I know I was inclined to be hard on her, myself. We don't know what her temptations have been; perhaps we should do as she does if we were in her place; we might forget God, too. But He won't forget her, if she has forgotten Him; He cares for her, and, oh, don't ever say she isn't worth bothering about again."
"I won't," Violet answered, her cheeks crimsoning at this rebuke, though it had been gently spoken; "I am ashamed I said it, I am indeed."
IT was a perfect summer evening. The day had been an oppressively hot one with scarcely a breath of air stirring, but now, as the sun set, a soft, refreshing breeze began to rise, which was very welcome. Malvina Medland, on her bed of pain, felt the difference of the atmosphere with thankfulness; she was certainly better, but her recovery from her attack of illness was being made very slowly, and Dr. Elizabeth was anything but satisfied with her progress.
Seated on her favourite seat beneath the almond tree in the garden of Laureston Square on this particular evening, Ann Reed had been thinking of Malvina, and wondering how she had endured the heat of the day. Ann had found it a wearisome, dragging day herself, and she knew it must have been a trying one for Malvina; but now her thoughts had turned from the sick girl to Violet, and very troubled thoughts they were.
"I don't understand her," she mused, "I cannot believe she knows anything about Agnes Hosking's purse, for when mother mentioned it at the breakfast-table, this morning, and said how much she regretted that it had never been found, she did not seem embarrassed in the least. I was so relieved to see that! And yet she cannot bear to speak of the afternoon Agnes came to tea with us, she gets red and looks ashamed, and what can she have to be ashamed of? I wish the girls did not slight her so at school; I know some of them do, and she must notice it. It's strange that she never mentions it to me, I am always expecting her to open up the subject. Can she know what Agnes has been hinting about her? If so, she evidently does not mean to openly resent it. Ah, here she comes! Father is right—he said yesterday she was looking rather pale. I'm afraid she's unhappy."
A minute later Violet had joined Ann on the seat. She seemed tired and out of spirits; doubtless the heat of the day had tried her, too.
"I've only just finished my lessons," she remarked; "I've been so slow over them this evening. How nice it is to have it a little cooler!"
"Yes," agreed Ann; "it's very pleasant here, isn't it? So quiet, and the scent from the flowers is lovely. I wonder why flowers always smell their sweetest after sunset? How the term is flying, isn't it, Violet? Here we are in the last week of June; why, in another month we shall be commencing the holidays."
"I shall be so glad when they come," Violet admitted; "not that I am not getting on all right with my work, for I am," she hastened to explain, "but I daresay you've noticed that it has been anything but agreeable for me at school this term. I have had the cold shoulder shown me by several of the girls—not that I care!" she added bitterly, and, certainly untruthfully.
"Oh, Violet!" exclaimed Ann, "I am so sorry, and I am sure you do care. I can see it is a trouble to you. Do you—do you know why—"
"Do I know why I am being treated so?" Violet asked, as her companion hesitated to proceed. "Of course I do," she declared vehemently; "it is Agnes Hosking's doing, not a doubt of it."
"I-I am afraid it is."
"It is very hard lines on me. I cannot help it if—if we've been poor—I'm sure I've hated being so—and I ought not to mind anything Agnes may have told the girls about me, I ought to be above minding, I think you would be, Ann, but— but—" and Violet broke down, with quivering lips and eyes swimming in tears.
"Oh, don't cry, don't cry," said Ann, in much distress; "you have your friends at Helmsford College who believe in you—the Garret girls, for instance. It was Clara who told me what Agnes Hosking had been saying; she trusts you entirely, indeed she does, and Cicely, too."
"Clara trusts me?" Violet exclaimed, looking puzzled, "I don't understand. I don't suppose Agnes has said anything that is not true."
"Oh, Violet, you don't mean that, you can't!" cried Ann, in a shocked voice.
Violet wiped the tears from her eyes, and regarded her agitated companion with increasing bewilderment. During the last few weeks she had been conscious of a change in Ann's manner to her. It was not that Ann had been less kind than she had been before; indeed, if anything, she had been kinder; but she had certainly showed herself less inclined to be confidential, and often Violet had caught her watching her with a dubious, puzzled expression on her face.
"It isn't possible you could have done such a thing," Ann proceeded, "there's some mistake. Tell me, what is it you think Agnes Hosking has hinted to the girls about you?"
"I don't think she has hinted anything," Violet returned; "no doubt she has told plain facts in the most objectionable way possible. She's said, I expect, that I'm a poor girl whom your father has taken into his home out of charity, and, therefore, that I'm beneath her in position and may be slighted and snubbed as she and her friends please. She's a horrid, mean girl, that's what she is, and I hate her! I wish I'd defied her from the first instead of—oh, Ann, you'll despise me I know, but I feel I must tell you all about it, whatever you may think afterwards!"
"Yes, do," said Ann eagerly, "I fancy we are at cross purposes somehow. As to father's having taken you into his home out of charity—if Agnes said that, why it's only her ill-bred way of putting it; she knows nothing about it, and she should mind her own business. But what is it you're going to tell me?"
Thereupon, with burning cheeks, Violet confessed that she had entered into a sort of compact with Agnes to obtain an invitation for her to No. 8 Laureston Square, in return for which she had been given a promise that Agnes would not make public her private affairs. Ann listened in silence, naturally greatly astonished, her eyes fixed gravely on her companion's crimson face.
"Do you utterly despise me?" Violet asked wistfully, when she had concluded her tale—it had been a difficult one to tell.
"No," Ann responded, "but I don't understand you quite." There was a look of relief on her face, for it was plain to her now, beyond a shadow of doubt, that Violet knew nothing of the lost purse. "I never trouble about what people think of me," she continued, "I am sure it is a mistake to do so. But, Violet, you are wrong in imagining that the girls who have snubbed you have done so on account of—of your position. If you had not induced me to ask Agnes to our house we should have been spared a lot of unhappiness, for she says—it is best to tell you the truth, for I foresee you will find it out—that she suspects you of having taken her purse. Yes, that is what she has been telling the girls, and I—I have not liked to speak to you about it for —for—"
"She suspects me of having taken her purse!" Violet cried excitedly. "Why, how could I have done that? What an absurd thing to suggest!"
"She says you might have taken it up from my bed as you were the last of us to leave the room that evening—"
"I remember I was," interrupted Violet; "but I never saw her purse after she put it into her muff. And she suspects me of having taken it—stolen it! She considers me a thief!"
The girl was trembling with anger, her eyes flashed, and she clenched her hands in her rage. Suddenly she turned upon Ann, almost fiercely, with the question:—
"Do you suspect me, too?"
"No, Violet no," Ann replied earnestly; "but I have not known what to do. I have been so anxious, and—and puzzled. I have not been able to understand you. You seemed so bitterly to regret having induced me to ask Agnes to tea—of course I see why that was now—and once or twice I—I have half doubted you, against my will, I—I could not help it. Oh, forgive me! I am sure now that you know nothing about the purse! Oh, I have been so wretched!"
Violet stared at her companion in silence for a minute, then she covered her face with her hands and burst into a flood of passionate tears. Ann sat by her, silent and miserable, incapable of offering any consolation, and when, by-and-by, she ventured to put her arm around her she was promptly repulsed.
"Let me alone!" Violet cried. "To think that you should have believed me to be a thief! Oh, it is horrible—horrible!"
"Violet, don't be too hard on me!" Ann said, pleadingly; "you must remember that it was your own conduct which made me doubt you; and it was the very faintest doubt, indeed it was, I put it away again and again, and then something you would say or do would bring it back. And—and I could not understand where you got the money to pay for your new tennis racquet, and—"
"Why you know I have the same amount to spend as you have yourself!" broke in Violet, looking both surprised and reproachful.
"Yes; but I know, too, that you have been sending a part of it to Ruth, and so—"
"I haven't, I haven't!" Violet interrupted again. "I quite meant to do so, but I found there were so many things I wanted," she added, greatly abashed.
"Yes, of course," Ann returned, hurriedly, trying in vain to conceal her astonishment; "you must not think I wish to pry into your private affairs, Violet. Your money is your own to do as you like with; but you must remember that you did tell me you were going to send some to Ruth, and that misled me."
"Do your mother and father know that Agnes Hosking suspects me of having stolen her purse?" demanded Violet, in a hard tone.
"No," replied Ann; "I have not told them."
"Then I shall," said Violet proudly; "I wonder if they will believe that I am a thief! Perhaps they will send me home in disgrace!"
"You know they will not."
"How can I tell? Why should they not believe this tale against me if others do—if you did?"
"Violet, you are most unjust." There was deep pain in Ann's voice.
In her heart of hearts Violet knew that this was true, for she recognised that she herself had given her companion sufficient cause to mistrust her, but she was not going to acknowledge that now.
Dr. and Mrs. Reed had gone to a dinner-party and were not expected home till late, so she would have no opportunity of speaking to them that night, but she was determined to inform them of the ugly suspicion Agnes Hosking entertained of her the first thing in the morning; she would ask them to let her go home, she thought she could not endure to return to Helmsford College again to be pointed at as a thief. Her eyes were quite dry now; her sense of passionate indignation had overcome every other feeling.
In silence the two girls sat side by side whilst the twilight faded and the shadows of evening began to gather. At length Violet gave a shudder, as though she was cold, and, rising, declared her intention of returning to the house.
"Yes, I think it is time we went indoors," said Ann; "for the dew is falling. My blouse is damp, I feel, and yours must be, too; we had better go in and change them. We are friends, are we not, Violet?"
Then, as Violet vouchsafed no response, she continued gently: "At any rate, I am your friend whatever your feelings may be towards me, and—and I am so sorry for you, dear. You must not take this matter too much to heart. Agnes can only influence a few of the girls against you, after all; she has very little power in the school really. Now we have had this talk together I know better how to act. I will speak to Agnes myself—"
"Oh, I will not trouble you to do that," Violet interrupted coldly, "you had much better not interfere. I—I don't suppose I shall go back to Helmsford College; I shall ask your father to send me home. I wish I had not come here!"
"Oh, Violet, don't say that!"
"I do say it, and I mean it."
After that they returned in silence to the house, and went upstairs to their respective rooms. As soon as Ann had changed her blouse she crossed the landing to Violet's door, and inquired if she was coming into the drawing-room, for they had previously arranged to practise a duet, which they were learning on the piano.
"No," Violet answered curtly, "I am going to bed."
"Going to bed!" echoed Ann. "Oh, please, don't! Are you not well? Have you taken cold?"
"I don't know and I don't care," was the reckless response; "I only want to be left in peace. Do go away."
Ann did as she was requested, but by-and-by her kind heart prompted her to return. This time she opened the door softly, and, entering the room, crossed to the bed. She could not see Violet very plainly, for there was no light in the room save that which the stars gave—Violet had pulled up the blind before getting into bed—but she guessed that she was not asleep, and, stooping over her, she imprinted a kiss on her forehead. The next minute Violet's arms were around her neck and the kiss was warmly returned.
"VIOLET, it is time to get up."
Violet started up in bed and saw Ann standing by her side, fully dressed. The bright, morning sunshine had been streaming into the room for hours, but it had failed to awaken Violet, who, after Ann had left her on the previous night, had lain awake till nearly daybreak, too agitated to rest, and then had fallen into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
"Is it very late?" she asked, as she yawned and rubbed her eyes.
"It's nearly breakfast-time. Get up and dress as quickly as you can; and, Violet, I waited up till mother and father came home last night and told them all about Agnes Hosking—I mean about her suspicion of you."
"Well?" questioned Violet, anxiously; "they don't believe that I know anything about the purse, do they?"
"No, certainly not."
"Did you explain to them how I came to get you to ask Agnes here?"
"Yes."
"Then they know everything?"
"Everything."
Violet asked no more questions, but jumped out of bed, and Ann left her to dress and went downstairs to the dining-room. Dr. Reed stood by the window, on the look-out for the postman; he glanced around with a smile as his daughter entered the room and gave her a hearty kiss as she joined him and slipped her arm through his.
"You look brighter than you did last night, my darling," he remarked affectionately; "worries never seem so formidable by daylight, do they?"
"No," she replied; "but I am still very unhappy about Violet, father. She declared last night that she would never enter the doors of Helmsford College again, and I am sure she meant it."
"Doubtless she did; but I believe she will change her mind this morning. Poor little thing, I am very sorry for her! Here comes the postman! Run and take the letters from him, my dear."
Ann obeyed. The letters proved all to be for her father, and scarcely had he finished reading them before Mrs. Reed and Violet entered the room, and the breakfast was brought in and placed on the table.
During the first part of the meal the conversation was on different subjects; but by-and-by Dr. Reed turned to Violet, who was hardly eating anything, and was looking nervous and ill at ease, and said with a kindliness of tone which brought the tears to her eyes:—
"Ann has been telling me that things have not been going very pleasantly for you at school this term, Violet; I am sorry to hear that."
"Oh, Dr. Reed, I cannot go back to Helmsford College now I know what Agnes Hosking has been saying of me!" Violet responded, almost tragically; "it is impossible!"
"Why?" inquired the doctor quietly.
"Why? Do you think I can endure to be in the company of those who consider me a thief?" Violet asked, casting a glance full of reproach at him, her voice trembling with excessive agitation.
"You cannot?" he questioned. "I should not have thought you were one to play the coward like that. Of course I cannot insist on your returning to school against your will, I should not dream of doing that; but I certainly advise you strongly to go with Ann this morning in the usual way. An unjust suspicion has been laid upon you, which I admit is very galling and hard to bear, and some few of your school-fellows have allowed an ill-natured girl to prejudice them against you, but I understand that you have your supporters at Helmsford College, and if I were you I would face this unpleasant affair and not run away from it. You have nothing to be ashamed of—that is, as far as the loss of the purse is concerned," he concluded, and Violet knew he was thinking of the motive which had influenced her in obtaining Agnes' invitation to his house.
"What do you imagine would be thought of you at school if you left suddenly in the middle of the term, Violet?" asked Mrs. Reed; "perhaps you have not considered that. I am sure, upon reflection, that you will see my husband is right. To my mind it is always better to face a trouble than to turn one's back on it. Do you know what I would do if I were you? I would take no notice of Agnes Hosking's cruel insinuations, I would show myself above noticing them. Depend upon it, that is the wisest way for you to act, and time will show that you have been most unjustly suspected. We, that is my husband, and Ann, and I, all know that now; and you must not fancy, my dear, that we do not fully sympathise with you, for indeed we do. We are more grieved on your account than we can express."
They had done breakfast now, and, as his wife finished speaking, Dr. Reed pushed back his chair from the table. Violet addressed him quickly:—
"I hope I don't seem ungrateful," she said, "please believe I am not that. I—I want to do what is right, and, if you think it will be best, of course I will go to school as usual."
"I am sure that will be best," Dr. Reed answered, looking pleased; "I did not think your father's daughter would prove a coward and run away."
He left the room without saying any more, and, half-an-hour later, the two girls went to school, both feeling depressed, but on the best of terms with each other.
Ann knew that it was her mother's intention to call on Miss Orchardson and inform her what the result of Agnes Hosking's visit to No. 8 Laureston Square had been, but she did not tell Violet that; therefore, when, in the midst of a French lesson, in the afternoon, a messenger from Miss Orchardson appeared in the class-room where it was being given, desiring that Miss Hosking might be sent to her in her private sitting-room, Ann was the only one in the class who was able to guess why she was wanted.
Agnes stood in awe of the headmistress, and her expression was one of decided uneasiness as she left the room. She was not absent very long, and when she returned, looking pale and rather frightened, Miss Orchardson was with her.
"I am sorry to interrupt the class, mademoiselle," the headmistress said, addressing the French governess; "but Agnes Hosking has an apology to make to Violet Wyndham, which it is my desire should be made publicly. As you are all aware, Agnes was so unfortunate as to lose a valuable purse last term, and it appears that she gave out that she suspected Violet Wyndham of having taken it. She has confessed to me that she had no actual ground for her suspicion, and she wishes to apologise for the annoyance and unhappiness she has caused. She has behaved very badly, but an apology seems to be the only reparation she can make."
Violet, in her surprise, looked far more confused than Agnes, who now mumbled a few words of apology and resumed her seat. Then Miss Orchardson left the room, and the French lesson was resumed. Soon after that work came to an end for the afternoon, and the day-scholars went home, whilst the boarders repaired to the playgrounds where Agnes' apology to Violet Wyndham formed the general topic of conversation.
Agnes herself had no idea who had made Miss Orchardson acquainted with her unscrupulous conduct, and she had been considerably alarmed at the extent of the headmistress' knowledge. She had been obliged to admit that she had no direct charge to bring against Violet, and had readily agreed to offer her an apology, glad to think the matter could be settled so easily.
"I did it to satisfy Miss Orchardson," she said to the girls, in answer to their curious inquiries, "but I have my own opinion all the same."
Meanwhile, Violet and Ann were on their homeward way together. There was a sparkle of triumph in Ann's grey eyes, for she was hopeful now that Violet's enemy had been completely routed.
"I wonder who can have told Miss Orchardson," said Violet, not a little puzzled at the turn events had taken; "was it you, Ann?"
"No. It was mother, I expect. She meant to, I know; for she and father agreed last night that it was not right to allow Agnes to continue to spread such a wicked story about you. Oh, Violet, I wish I had told mother what was going on at school weeks ago! She would have put a stop to it before. This only shows it's always right and best to be quite open about everything. By the way, have you told your people at home how unhappy you have been?"
"No; ought I to do so, do you think?"
"I hardly see how you could explain by letter."
"Ruth would blame me for having had anything to do with Agnes, I feel certain of that. She wrote and said she was greatly surprised when I told her we'd asked Agnes to tea. Perhaps I shall tell her all about that some day, and then she'll understand how it came about."
Ann looked thoughtful. She was thinking how strange it was that Violet should have minded her school-fellows knowing of the straitened circumstances of her people at home, and what great store she must set on money and position to have imagined that she had been slighted on account of her not possessing either the one or the other.
"I wonder if Agnes has heard of father's appointment, yet," Violet proceeded presently, "I wish she could have seen that paragraph about him in the newspaper Dr. Elizabeth sent to me, I almost wish I had kept it to show her, but I forwarded it to Ruth; I should like her to know that my people are shortly to be in a better position."
"I don't see that it matters whether she knows it or not," Ann replied, a trifle impatiently.
"No, of course it does not, but—oh, Ann, I don't believe you mind in the least what people think of you!"
"I mind what those I love think of me, but I don't bother about the opinions of others. Father says we should do what we believe to be right, be quite straight in every way, and never trouble about what people may be thinking."
"I wish I could do that!"
"Well, why can't you?"
"I don't know. I do mind what people think of me. Ruth used to say it was very weak and foolish of me, and I suppose it is."
"I am sure it is." Ann was silent for a moment, then she went on: "The first term I was at Helmsford College—I had a governess before that —the girls put me through a regular list of questions. It seemed they wanted to find out all about father's family—"
"How rude of them!" broke in Violet; "I hope you didn't gratify their curiosity? should have told them to mind their own business!"
"Well, I did nothing of the kind," Ann replied with a smile; "I told them about my grandfather, that he had been a working farmer who had laboured with his hands, and I told them all about dear old Granny, and how father had made his own way in the world—I was very proud to tell them that!"
"And were the girls as nice to you afterwards as they were before?" asked Violet, struck with amazement.
"Oh yes! I have always got on very well with all the girls; they are not so narrow-minded as you think them."
"It was very plucky of you to speak out," said Violet, "I'm sure I could not have done it myself. Oh, Ann, you believe I love father, don't you?"
"Why, of course I do!"
"And yet I've been so ashamed that people should know he was not a prosperous man. That's one point on which Ruth and I have been so different. You're like Ruth. I believe if you knew her you'd like her much better than you do me."
"I don't believe I should. People who are alike never get on so well together as those who are not; I have often heard that remarked, haven't you?"
"Yes; but Ruth is nicer than I am in every way, she's so unselfish and sweet-tempered."
They were nearly at home now, and, in turning the corner of the street which led into Laureston Square, they came face to face with Dr. Elizabeth Ridgeway, who stopped to speak to them for a minute.
"I have been to see your father, to make an appointment with him to meet me to-morrow," she explained to Ann, "I want his opinion of a patient of mine—that poor girl, Malvina Medland."
"Is she worse?" Ann questioned, in dismay.
Dr. Elizabeth briefly assented; then, being apparently in a hurry, she said good-bye and went on her way. Violet and Ann exchanged concerned glances, and the latter said, with a serious shake of the head:—
"She must be very ill if Dr. Elizabeth wants father to see her. Oh, Violet, I do hope she is not going to die!"
THE summer term was drawing to a close, and the girls at Helmsford College were full of plans for the coming holidays. Most of those who had believed Agnes Hosking's story against Violet Wyndham, and had snubbed her in consequence, had changed their behaviour during the last few weeks and made kindly overtures to her; but there were still a few who stood by Agnes, though, after the apology she had made, they could not openly say that they did so.
"Never mind," Ann said consolingly, on one occasion, when Violet had remarked despondently that she feared her character would never be fully cleared from suspicion; "you must have patience, it will all come right some day."
"I wish I could think so," Violet responded, with a sigh, "but I fear that is not likely. I wonder if you would be patient in the circumstances?" Her tone was sceptical, and she told herself that it was easier to preach than to practise.
"I hope I should try to be," answered Ann, guessing the thought in the other's mind; "I know it is very hard for you, Violet."
"Speaking of patience makes one think of poor Malvina Medland," said Violet; "I am sure it is marvellous how she bears pain as she does."
"She is obliged to bear it," sighed Ann, "and she is too unselfish not to do so as bravely as possible; Dr. Elizabeth says she has the spirit of a martyr, full of endurance and faith."
Malvina was at present in the Barford hospital, whither she had been removed a few days subsequent to the one on which Dr. Reed had seen her. She had become so much worse that she had required constant attendance, and nursing which she could not possibly have received in her own home. Ann had been to visit her once with Mrs. Reed since she had been in the hospital, and had found her uncomplaining as ever though in much pain. Everyone was most kind and good to her, she had declared gratefully, and she hoped soon to be ever so much better; certainly it was a great disappointment that she should have had a relapse. Dr. Reed had shaken his head gravely when his daughter had repeated to him what Malvina had said, and she had immediately realised that he took a very serious view of the poor girl's condition.
Malvina's bed in the hospital was one of many in a bright, airy ward; and yet she was home-sick there, and would have given anything to be back in her small, bare room at home. But she was not unreasonable. She knew that her mother could not leave her work to nurse her, and the doctors considered her too ill to be left alone or to the occasional ministrations of the little charwoman, and therefore the hospital was the right place for her to be. She missed her mother and Lottie greatly, though they seized every possible opportunity of coming to see her on the days visitors were allowed in the wards; and her heart was very sore on her sister's account, whilst she was haunted day and night by harrowing thoughts in connection with her.
Mrs. Reed had been to see Malvina several times, and, on the occasion when Ann had accompanied her, the sick girl had inquired for Violet, whom she had spoken of as "the pretty young lady with the beautiful brown eyes." Ann had promised to bring Violet to see her, and Violet—truth to tell, flattered by Malvina's description of her—had quite willingly agreed to go.
Thus one hot afternoon in the last week of July found Ann and Violet visiting Malvina in the hospital. Malvina was in less pain than usual to-day and able to talk—of late she had been frequently too weak even for that much exertion. Violet thought she must certainly be better, for there was a pink flush on her cheeks, and her blue eyes were very bright. Her visitors were accommodated with chairs one on either side of her bed, and she looked from one to the other of them and smiled contentedly as she said:—
"It's so kind of you both to come! I do love having visitors, and I'm feeling so much easier to-day that it's a pleasure to talk."
"Oh, you will soon be well again, now," Violet declared cheerfully, "you are looking ever so much better than I expected to see you."
"I'm in much less pain, miss, and that's a great mercy," Malvina replied, "but I doubt if I'm really better for all that. I asked the house surgeon the other day if he thought I was improving at all, but he put me off—wouldn't say, you know. So, yesterday, I asked Dr. Elizabeth; I was certain she would tell me the truth."
"And what did she say?" asked Ann gently, with a sinking sensation in her heart and anxiety in her face and voice.
"That I was not better yet, and that mine is one of those puzzling cases which baffle doctors, and I must have patience a little longer."
"A little longer?" echoed Violet. "Oh, that sounds hopeful, doesn't it? Are you happy here, Malvina?"
"Happier than I was at first, miss; I felt so lonely for the first few days. Oh, I don't mean lonely in that way," she continued, as her companions glanced along the rows of beds with their sick occupants, "but I felt so strange, and—I daresay it seems absurd—I missed my sparrows, especially of a morning. Lottie tells me she feeds them with crumbs every day on the sill of my bedroom window, just as I used to do. The sweet little creatures! They are so tame—almost as tame as your canaries, Miss Ann!"
"I suppose you often see Lottie?" questioned Ann.
"Oh, yes, miss. You know she's really a good-hearted girl, and she's very fond of me; but I'm so unhappy about her. She goes on betting, and she's a great trouble to mother on account of her flighty ways. She means no harm, I'm sure, but—" and Malvina broke off and shook her head whilst an expression of deep sadness settled on her face.
"Poor Lottie," said Ann, softly, "poor girl!"
There was a brief silence after that. Many of the other patients had visitors, too, and there was a low hum of conversation throughout the ward.
"The summer holidays commence next week," Ann informed Malvina by-and-by, "I am going to spend them with my grandmother at Teymouth."
"And I am going home to my own people," said Violet, her pretty face glowing with happiness.
"We are to travel to London together," explained Ann, "and I am to break my journey there in order to spend a few days with an aunt—mother's sister. Mother and father hope to join me in Devonshire, in September, if all's well. You will have to say good-bye to us to-day, Malvina, for nearly two months."
"For nearly two months!" echoed Malvina. There was a wistful expression in her blue eyes. "That is a long, long time to look forward to," she went on gravely, "and I—perhaps I shall not be here when you come back to Buford."
"I hope not," said Violet, with a smile, "I hope by then you will be at home again."
"I did not mean that," Malvina answered in a low tone, "I think, sometimes, that I shall not get about again; it will be as God wills, and—and—yes, He knows best. You mustn't be grieved," she proceeded, as Violet looked at her in consternation and then glanced quickly at Ann, "I may be quite wrong, only I have felt of late, after suffering a great deal, that perhaps I shall not get well."
She raised herself on the pillow as she spoke, and fixed her eyes on Ann with an appealing look in their blue depths.
"Miss Ann," she said earnestly, "you've been a good friend to me ever since I knew you, and that emboldens me to ask you a great, great favour. I want you to promise me something. It's asking more than I ought of you, I daresay, and perhaps you'll think it bold and presumptuous of me—"
"No, I am sure I shall not think that," Ann interposed hastily. "Tell me what it is you wish me to promise; anything I can do for you I most certainly will."
"Thank you, miss. I want you to promise that, if anything happens to me, you'll be a friend to Lottie if you can. You said 'poor Lottie, poor girl,' just now in a way that made me think you didn't despise her quite. Oh, Miss Ann, Lottie isn't a good girl, I know that! She's made bad companions, and perhaps I'm wrong to ask you this, perhaps your mother and father would be angry if you had anything to do with her!"
Ann shook her head, for she knew better than that; but she had had very little intercourse with Lottie, and she scarcely knew what answer to make. She did not think it likely she would ever have an opportunity of being a friend to her.
"Nobody cares for Lottie as I do," the sick girl continued mournfully, "not even mother—but I'm forgetting, God cares for her. She's one of His poor wandering sheep. Yes, He cares for her."
"Malvina, if I can be a friend to Lottie I will," Ann promised earnestly, "you may take my word for that."
A look of radiant happiness lit up the invalid's face. "Thank you, Miss Ann," she said gratefully, "oh, thank you! I shall be more easy about Lottie now! She's selfish and flighty, but she's got a heart all the same, and she loves me—that's why I've been worrying about her so much, wondering how she will take it if—if I don't go home any more."
At that moment a nurse came up, whispered something to Ann, and moved away again.
"She says we must not stay any longer," Ann said, in response to Violet's inquiring glance; "we must go now, Malvina." She rose and held out her hand, which the invalid took and held tightly. "I'm afraid we must say good-bye," she added, with a slight break in her voice.
"I am sorry you must not stay longer now, for I know we shall not meet again for a long, long while," Malvina whispered, her voice sounding very feeble and tired, "but we shall meet again, I am sure of that."
"Yes," assented Ann, "I, too, am sure of that."
She bent and kissed Malvina tenderly, as a sister might have done. "Good-bye," she said, "God bless you."
"He is with me, Miss Ann," Malvina answered; "He will be with me all the way."
"Good-bye," Ann said again; then she drew her hand gently away from the sick girl's clinging fingers, and walked swiftly down the ward towards the door.
It was Violet's turn to say good-bye now. She did so kindly, but somewhat hurriedly, and joined Ann who was waiting for her at the door. Glancing back the two girls saw that Malvina had raised herself on her elbow, and was gazing after them. They smiled and nodded, and so bright was her smile in return that Violet thought she could not be so very ill. She made some remark to that effect as soon as she and her companion had left the hospital and were out in the street, but received no reply, and, glancing at Ann, she saw that she was incapable of speech, and that her eyes were almost blinded with tears.
For a few minutes the girls walked on, side by side, in silence; but Ann soon regained her composure, and then Violet asked in awed tones:—
"Do you think that she is going to die—that she won't get over this?"
"I have a feeling that she is not going to live very long, and I know father considers her very ill," was the grave response.
"And yet you agreed with her when she said you would meet again!" cried Violet, considerably surprised.
"Yes, but I did not mean that we should meet in this world, nor, I think, did she," Ann replied, in a voice which was still tremulous with emotion.
"How dreadful!" exclaimed Violet, with a faint shudder.
"Dreadful? Why? It would be dreadful if I thought we should not meet again—if we looked forward no further than this life."
"You are such a strange girl," Violet said wonderingly, "so very different to what I expected you would be."
"You have several times told me that," Ann said gravely, "you make me curious to know what you had pictured I should be like."
Violet made no response to this. As their visit to the hospital had not been of such long duration as they had anticipated it would be, instead of going straight home the two girls lingered looking in the shop windows. By-and-by their conversation turned to the approaching holidays, to which both were naturally looking forward with the keenest pleasure.
"It will be so nice travelling together," Ann said; "it seemed such a long journey last year when I took it alone—mother did not join me at Teymouth till the holidays were half over, seven weeks is too long a time for her to be away from home."
"Did you stay in London last year?" asked Violet.
"Yes, for nearly a week, at Hampstead with Aunt Louisa."
"Is she nice?" inquired Violet.
"Aunt Louisa? Oh, yes! She's very like mother. Her husband — Uncle John — is a barrister, you know. They haven't any children."
"I suppose they are fashionable people?"
"I suppose they are," Ann admitted, with an amused laugh; "they have a beautiful home, and Aunt Louisa goes into society a good deal."
"Wouldn't you rather spend your holidays with them than with your grandmother?" questioned Violet.
"No, indeed! I'd far rather be at Teymouth with Granny. I've been thinking how nice it would be if you could persuade your people to go to Teymouth; you know Ruth wrote and said that they talked of going away for a change."
"Oh, what a splendid idea!" cried Violet, her face lighting up with excitement. "But could we get lodgings at Teymouth, I wonder?"
"Yes, I believe so; I can easily find that out for you when I get there, and I will let you know. It's not a fashionable place, though, Violet."
"Oh no, I understand that. I think father would like it better on that account, and mother, too. There's a nice beach, isn't there?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Madge and the boys would be delighted with that, and—oh, I do wish it could be managed for us to meet you there! I want you to know Ruth, and I'm sure you'd like mother. You can't think how I'm longing to see them all, I never seemed to love them so dearly when I was at home."
Ann made no response, for her attention had been attracted by two factory girls who had brushed by them, one of whom was Lottie Medland, the girl she had promised to befriend; and, as Ann looked after her and caught the sound of her light, careless laugh, she sighed, and her face grew sorrowful again, whilst her thoughts returned to Malvina grieving about her sister in the midst of her pain.
"OH, mother, how glad I am to be at home again!" cried Violet Wyndham, sincerity in her tone, her eyes shining with a joyous light.
The Wyndhams, mother, father, and children, were assembled in the sitting-room on the evening of Violet's return to her home, after the evening meal, which had been later than usual on the traveller's account. The gas was lit, but the blind was up and the window open wide to admit as much air as possible, for the weather was almost intolerably hot in London. Close to the window Mrs. Wyndham was seated, Violet at her side, and her husband opposite to her, whilst the others hovered around.
"I wonder how many times you've said that within the last hour, Violet," remarked Mr. Wyndham, smiling. "She doesn't appear the least tired, does she?" he continued, addressing his wife; "see what a colour she has! she makes Ruth and Madge look quite pale."
"Oh, I'm not in the least tired," declared Violet, "though it was a very hot journey and the air seemed to get closer and closer as we came further south. I am glad you have met Ann, father; what did you think of her?"
"My dear Violet, I only saw her for a minute or so before her aunt came up and took her away. I noticed she had her father's eyes, however."
"Yes," nodded Violet. "I was disappointed that you did not see more of her, but one cannot say much on a railway-platform, anyway."
"She has gone to stay with a sister of her mother's, has she not?" questioned Ruth. She sat with her eyes fixed on Violet's face, not saying much, but listening attentively to all Violet said.
"Yes. Her aunt met her and took her away in a grand carriage with a pair of horses and servants in livery, whilst father and I got into a humble cab." Violet laughed gaily, and proceeded: "Oh, dear me, how that cab crawled along—or so it seemed to me. I was in such a fever of impatience to get home, wasn't I, father?"
"You were, my dear," Mr. Wyndham replied, "and when at last the cab pulled up you wouldn't wait for me to open the door but opened it yourself, jumped out, and simply flew like a whirlwind into the house."
"Yes," smiled Violet, "and there, in the passage, were mother, and Ruth, and Madge, and the boys—"
"And she kissed all round beginning with mother and ending with me," broke in Billy, "and then she made a rush towards the kitchen stairs to look for Barbara who was coming up, and they bumped against each other and Barbara's cap fell off!" He burst into a roar of laughter, in which his brother joined, at the remembrance of the scene.
"It was a clean cap," said Madge; "Barbara had put it on in honour of Violet; she has been as excited about your return as any of us, Vi."
"Yes," said Frank, "and she's been making such preparations for your arrival, scrubbing and cleaning, and she's been as cross as two sticks."
"You know, dear, she generally is cross when she's more than usually busy," Mrs. Wyndham observed; "I think it's because she does not know what to do first. I make it a rule now to leave her to herself at such times, that's far the best plan."
"Violet doubtless remembers Barbara's peculiarities," remarked Mr. Wyndham, with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
They all laughed; they were ready to laugh at very little that evening, for it was so delightful to be all together again, and it added to the pleasure of the occasion to see how full of contentment and happiness Violet appeared. Her eyes took in everything about her as she talked, the fresh curtains in the window, the flowers on the table, and many other evidences that went to prove that efforts had been made to make the room look as attractive as possible on her arrival. She guessed that Ruth had been hard at work all day, and there was tenderness as well as affection in her glance as it rested on her elder sister.
"I can hardly realise now that I have been away from you all for more than six months," she said by-and-by, "and yet, sometimes, at Barford, I used to feel as though I had been parted from you for years."
"You have been very happy, haven't you, dear?" questioned her mother; "the Reeds have been unfailingly kind to you, haven't they?"
"They have been kindness itself always. I've been treated like Ann in every way. At first everything was very strange and I thought Mrs. Reed very strict and particular, but I don't think that now. I've grown to understand her, and I love her dearly. Indeed I have met with a great deal of kindness from everyone, except—except—"
Violet's voice faltered and broke off, whilst the flush in her cheeks deepened and her eyes suddenly filled with tears.
"My dear, what is it?" questioned Mrs. Wyndham, in dismay.
"I didn't mean to tell you to-night," said Violet; "but I suppose I may as well and get it over. I couldn't very well write and explain."
"Someone has been unkind to you?" asked Ruth; "not Ann, surely?"
"Ann?" cried Violet; "what can you be thinking of, Ruth? Why Ann wouldn't be unkind to anyone—not to her worst enemy! But I don't believe she ever had an enemy. It's Agnes Hosking! She's a mean, wicked, cruel—"
"Hush, hush, Violet," interposed her father; "don't get excited and use such violent language. Why, your face is crimson with passion! Try to tell us quietly what Agnes Hosking has done."
Accordingly Violet told the tale of the loss of the tortoise-shell purse, which was listened to with great interest, but when she came to speak of the suspicion which had been put upon her, her parents looked very grave and the indignation of her sisters and brothers knew no bounds.
Agnes had behaved most shamefully, they declared, and she ought to have been severely punished in spite of her apology.
"It is a great pity she was invited to the Reeds' house at all." Ruth observed, when they had all quieted down a little; "I said so at the time, I remember. How did it come about, Violet?"
"She asked me to get her an invitation and I did," Violet admitted, "no one had invited her out to tea all the term. I made a mistake in acting as I did, and I have had to suffer for it. Ann is always hoping the purse may turn up, but that's most unlikely now; I expect Agnes dropped it in the street, and whoever picked it up kept it—you see there was considerably more than a pound in it. Oh, dear, it has been a most disagreeable affair altogether, and has caused me more unhappiness than I can express!"
"I have no doubt of that," said Mr. Wyndham; "but we won't let it overshadow your first evening at home, Violet. You have been badly treated, but the truth will prevail—it always does sooner or later—and I believe those girls who have been prejudiced against you will eventually learn that they have done you an injustice, though they may not acknowledge it in so many words."
"I am sure your father is right, Violet darling," said Mrs. Wyndham eagerly, with a brightening countenance; "no one who really knows you could believe you capable of—of theft." She hesitated over the last word, and flushed sensitively.
"No, indeed," agreed Madge. "Oh, you poor, dear Violet, how miserably unhappy you must have been!" The little girl's voice was full of sympathy.
"And how miserably unhappy we should have been if we had known what was going on!" cried Ruth.
"I'm glad we didn't know," said Billy ingenuously. "It wouldn't have done any good if we had," he added quickly, wondering if his candid remark had sounded a little unkind, he had not meant it to be that.
"Don't you think we might, with advantage, change the subject of our conversation?" suggested Mr. Wyndham. "You have said enough about your enemy for to-night, Violet, let us hear about your friends—those two girls whom you went to see in the Easter holidays, for instance. Let me see, what was it they were called?"
"Garret," Violet replied, and forthwith launched into a lengthy description of the Garret girls, whom, next to Ann Reed, she counted as her best friends, and Agnes Hosking's name did not occur in the conversation again.
The family party did not break up till late that night, and long after the rest of the household slept Ruth and Violet talked in their own room. They had so much to say to each other, and excitement kept them from feeling sleepy.
"I believe you have grown inches," declared Ruth, as she sat on her sister's box, whilst Violet, standing before the dressing-table, brushed her wavy brown hair, "and you are looking remarkably well. How do you think father is looking?"
"Capital! I noticed the difference in him the instant I caught sight of him when our train ran into the station; he looks so much younger and brighter than when I went away, and I'm sure he doesn't stoop so much. Oh, Ruthie, you can't think how rejoiced I felt when I heard of his good fortune!"
"I think I can," Ruth replied, smiling happily. "Were you disappointed when you heard we were going to remain on here?" she inquired.