She was a lady of high degree,A poor and unknown artist he.'Paint me,' she said, 'a view of the sea.'So he painted the sea as it looked the dayWhen Aphrodite arose from its spray,And as she gazed on its face the while,It broke in its countless dimpled smile.'What a poky, stupid picture!' said she.'It isn't anything like the sea!'
She was a lady of high degree,A poor and unknown artist he.'Paint me,' she said, 'a view of the sea.'So he painted the sea as it looked the dayWhen Aphrodite arose from its spray,And as she gazed on its face the while,It broke in its countless dimpled smile.'What a poky, stupid picture!' said she.'It isn't anything like the sea!'
She was a lady of high degree,A poor and unknown artist he.'Paint me,' she said, 'a view of the sea.'So he painted the sea as it looked the dayWhen Aphrodite arose from its spray,And as she gazed on its face the while,It broke in its countless dimpled smile.'What a poky, stupid picture!' said she.'It isn't anything like the sea!'
The wretched artist, in several more verses of poetry which I forget, paints the sea in every possible effect of storm and calm, all to the scorn of the lady, who decides—
'I don't believe hecanpaint the sea!'
'I don't believe hecanpaint the sea!'
'I don't believe hecanpaint the sea!'
But in desperation he makes a final dash for her patronage, probably, poor man, being hard up.
So he painted a stretch of hot brown sand,With a big hotel on either hand,And a handsome pavilion for the band.Not a trace of the water to be seen,Except one faint little streak of green.'What a perfectlyexquisitepicture!' said she,'The veryimageof the sea!'"
So he painted a stretch of hot brown sand,With a big hotel on either hand,And a handsome pavilion for the band.Not a trace of the water to be seen,Except one faint little streak of green.'What a perfectlyexquisitepicture!' said she,'The veryimageof the sea!'"
So he painted a stretch of hot brown sand,With a big hotel on either hand,And a handsome pavilion for the band.Not a trace of the water to be seen,Except one faint little streak of green.'What a perfectlyexquisitepicture!' said she,'The veryimageof the sea!'"
Lorraine laughed.
"No one can accuse Tangy Point of pavilions and big hotels! We seem quite alone in the world, up on these cliffs. I haven't seen a solitary person since we left the village."
"Which remark has instantly conjured up somebody. Look on the shore below us—no, to the left, down there. I see the flutter of a feminine skirt—yes, and masculine trousers too! He's getting out of a boat, and going to speak to her. Actually a kiss! How touching! They don't know that there are spectators on the cliffs. We must be hundreds of feet above them. They look like specks!"
"I brought the field-glasses," said Lorraine, opening her satchel. "It brings that couple as close and clear as possible. Why, I know that grey costume and that crimson toque. It's Madame Bertier, as large as life! Look for yourself. Carina!"
Margaret Lindsay readjusted the glasses to her sight and focused them on the figures below.
"There's not a doubt about it!" she pronounced. "I can almost hear her broken English! Who's the man?"
Lorraine stood frowning with concentrated thought.
"That's what is puzzling me! His face is so absolutely familiar. IknowI've seen him before, somewhere, and yet, for the life of me, I can't remember where. It's one of those aggravating half-memories that haunt one. I'd like to try throwing down a stone to attract their attention."
"I shouldn't on any account. Let's leave them to it, and go and find a place to take our sketch. We shall lose this effect of sunshine, if we're not quick. Madame Bertier doesn't interest me enough to make me waste valuable time in watching her flirtations."
"But I wish I could remember who the man is!" ruminated Lorraine, with knitted brows.
"He's certainly not worth bothering your head about! Come along and sketch!"
"Look here!" said Vivien one day in recreation time, "I think this school's a very second-rate sort of show. We're a set of blighters!"
She was sitting on a form in the gymnasium, in a decidedly pessimistic frame of mind, eating a piece of hard oatcake.
"It's as dry as chumping chaff!" she confided dismally. "I don't like my lunch!"
"In these days of rations there's never even a scrap of margarine to spare, let alone butter!" groused Audrey, who was also in a mood to mop up sympathy. "I bring biscuits every morning, but they're not what biscuits used to be."
"Nothing is."
"What's wrong with the school, though?" asked Lorraine, with somewhat of the irritation of a nurse when her pet fledgeling is unduly criticized. "It seems to be jogging along all right, as far as I can see."
"There you've hit the nail on the head exactly. It's jogging, and I hate things to jog. I like them to go with a swing. The Lent term's always as dull as ditch water."
"We have our societies——" began Lorraine, but Vivien interrupted her impatiently.
"Oh, yes! Those precious societies! I know! Every one was keen at first, and then they slacked. They always do! Don't talk to me! I'm blue!"
"Are we down-hearted? No!" jodelled Patsie, throwing up her last bit of biscuit, and trying to catch it in her mouth like a terrier. "I say, Vivien, you silly cockchafer, why don't you buck up? If the school's dull, then for goodness' sake do something to make it more lively, instead of sitting and looking like a dying duck in a thunderstorm. What the Muses do you want?"
"Something to happen."
"What? An elopement? A fire? A burglary? Tell me the sort of sensation you're craving for, and we'll try to accommodate you. I'm going to start a Sensation Bureau. Excitements guaranteed. Terms cash, or monthly instalments. You pay your money, and you take your choice. Address: Miss Sullivan, The Gables. Cheques and postal orders must be crossed."
The girls sniggered, for Patsie was at what they were wont to call her "Patsiest". At school she supplied the place of public entertainer. Her favourite rôle was that of the jester, with cap and bells.
"I reallyhavegot a brain-wave, though," she rattled on. "I agree with Viv. Things at present are just about as dull and unromantic as they could possibly be. Girls don't have any fun as they had in the Middle Ages, or even in JaneAusten's times. My great-grandmother ran away from school to Gretna Green, but it's never done now. Well, the next best thing to real adventures is making them up. That's where my Sensation Bureau comes in. Here's Vivien pining for romance. Well, I'm prepared to give it to her hot and strong. I'm going to write her a letter every day from 'Jack', and post it inside the hollow tree in the garden. She can get and post hers there too, if she likes. Will you trade letters, Viv.? It'll be a stunt!"
"If you'll write the first," agreed Vivien, brightening up.
"Of course your 'Jack' will write first to his little 'Forget-me-not'!" laughed Patsie.
Patsie was gifted with a most lively imagination, and some talent for writing. Her tastes ran on the lines of cheap novelettes. She evolved a supposititious hero for Vivien, and began a series of epistles couched in exceedingly ardent terms. All the most extravagant nonsense that she could invent was scribbled in the letters, which, addressed simply to "Forget-me-not", were posted inside the hollow of an old ash-tree at the bottom of the school garden. Vivien shared the effusions with her friends, and they had tremendous fun over them in a corner of the cloak-room. They helped her to concoct replies. The imaginary romance afforded them extreme entertainment. It was as exciting as writing a novel. They worked it through all sorts of interesting stages—hope, despair, and lovers' quarrels—till it culminated in a suggested elopement. Patsiereally outdid herself sometimes in the brilliancy of her composition. "Jack" had developed a floweriness of style and a knack of describing his bold adventures that raised him to the rank of a cinema hero. The girls used to wait for his letters with as keen an anticipation as for the next number of a serial. Vivien, the fortunate recipient of them, was envied. Several other enthusiasts suggested opening a correspondence, but Patsie was adamant.
"The Sensation Bureau's got enough in this line on its hands. I'll provide something else for you, if you like—a shipwreck, or an air-raid, or a railway accident—but until those two are safely 'eloped', I can't take on any more love affairs. Oh, yes! you can put down your names if you like. I've a nice little matter in my mind for Audrey, later in the term—no, I shan't tell it you now, not if you beg all day!"
The girls were sitting near the stove in the gymnasium before afternoon school, and munching some home-made chocolate concocted with cocoa and condensed milk. Like most war substitutes, it was not so good as the real thing, but it was certainly much better than nothing. The talk, with several side-issues concerning eatables, drifted back again to the all-engrossing "Jack". Vivien, as the heroine of the romance, assumed an attitude of interesting importance. She affected much knowledge of his doings.
"You've never yet told us exactly what he's like," said Nellie.
"Well, of course it's difficult to describe him.He's tall, you know, with flashing eyes and little crisp curls."
"Has he a moustache?"
"N—n—o, not exactly a moustache." (Vivien's imagination was not nearly so ready as Patsie's.) "He's rather like Antonio in that piece they had at the cinema last week. He flings money about liberally, and he's always jumping into a motor and driving off very fast."
"Where does he get his petrol?" asked Lorraine.
"Oh, it's supplied by the Government. He has a simply enormous salary and private means as well. We shall be rolling, you know. I'm looking forward to having you all staying with me when we settle down."
The circle beamed almost as if the prospect were real.
"Where's the house?" enquired Audrey.
"He has several houses," said Vivien thoughtfully, checking them off on her fingers. "A town one, of course, in the West End, a hunting-box near Warwick, and a place in Wales. I believe there's an estate in Ireland as well."
"Shall you hunt? Oh, Viv.!"
"Of course I shall. 'Jack' simplyadoreshunting. We're going to talk over my mount to-morrow, if the dear boy's able to turn up."
In the excitement of these prospective plans Vivien involuntarily raised her voice. The previous conversation had been in subdued tones, but her last remark must have been audible over half the gymnasium. Nellie nudged her so violently thather piece of chocolate fell to the floor. In turning to recover it she noticed the cause of the sudden interruption. Miss Janet was within a few yards of them turning over some music by the piano.
Vivien's complexion assumed a dull beetroot shade. She wondered whether Miss Janet had overheard. It was impossible to go up to her and explain that they were only pretending. The mistress's face was inscrutable. She did not even glance in their direction, but picked out two or three songs from the pile and walked away into the house. The little circle broke up. Miss Janet's vicinity seemed to have put the stopper on romance. She was certainly not a sentimental person.
On the following day there was a fog—one of those white sea-fogs which sometimes enveloped Porthkeverne, when everything was veiled in soft mist, and even the very furniture was clammy. Vivien, whose throat was delicate, came to school with a Shetland shawl across her mouth. She sat and coughed in the gymnasium during recreation, and fingered a letter in her pocket. It was quite a fat letter, and addressed to "Jack Stanley, Esq".
"If it weren't so damp I'd run down the garden and post this," she said to Lorraine. "I expect there'll be one waiting for me in the tree, but I promised Mother I wouldn't do anything silly, and I suppose itwouldbe silly to run down the wet garden in my thin shoes and without my coat."
"It would be absolutely cracked, with that cough. I'll go. Give me your letter."
It was part of the procedure of the romance thatthe correspondence must be deposited inside the hollow tree, or else, on wet days, it would certainly have been far simpler to hand over the notes in school. Vivien had once hinted this, but Patsie stuck firmly to her plans, and, as she was the originator of the whole scheme, she had the right to make the arrangements.
"'Jack's' letters will be found in the garden, and nowhere else," she decreed.
So Lorraine, who was sufficiently interested to want to hear the next instalment supplied by Patsie's fertile imagination, ran out into the fog and among the dripping bushes down the path that edged the lawn. The pillar-box was moist and earwiggy; she wetted and soiled her sleeve by reaching down into it. At the bottom, in company with a fat spider and several woodlice, lay a letter addressed in a bold hand to "My Forget-me-not". She exchanged it for Vivien's epistle and scudded off through the damp mist back to the gymnasium. If any eyes were watching as she passed the study window and came in by the side door, it was much too foggy for her to see clearly. As she handed the letter to her waiting cousin she noticed that the envelope was not gummed down securely.
"Hallo, 'Jack's' been in a hurry with this," she commented. "It isn't properly stuck."
"Perhaps it's the damp that's melted the gum," said Vivien, pulling out the contents impatiently.
Jack's correspondence, though addressed to her, was common property. Several heads bent overthe closely-written sheet, eager for what might be termed "the next episode" of the romance. The letter was dated "The Grand Hotel" and began:
"My Own Darlingest Forget-me-not,"It is twenty-four hours since I last wrote to you, and the time has seemed an eternity. How I manage to live without your presence I cannot imagine. Life apart from you is a blank wilderness. I wander by the sad sea waves, and were it not for the fond hope of meeting you again I should cast myself into them and perish. Forget-me-not, my ownest own, I can stand this misery no longer. Surely the clouds that have separated us may now be blown apart, and again I can bask in the sunshine of your smile? If you can forgive me, meet me alone at twilight in the old familiar spot on the beach, that hallowed place where we first gazed into each other's eyes and vowed fidelity. I have a plan to propose, but I dare not write it: I must tell it to you in words and beg for your favour on my knees. I shall be there, awaiting your approach with burning anxiety, and longing to clasp you in these fond arms."With all the love in the wide world,"Your most devoted slave,"Jack."
"My Own Darlingest Forget-me-not,
"It is twenty-four hours since I last wrote to you, and the time has seemed an eternity. How I manage to live without your presence I cannot imagine. Life apart from you is a blank wilderness. I wander by the sad sea waves, and were it not for the fond hope of meeting you again I should cast myself into them and perish. Forget-me-not, my ownest own, I can stand this misery no longer. Surely the clouds that have separated us may now be blown apart, and again I can bask in the sunshine of your smile? If you can forgive me, meet me alone at twilight in the old familiar spot on the beach, that hallowed place where we first gazed into each other's eyes and vowed fidelity. I have a plan to propose, but I dare not write it: I must tell it to you in words and beg for your favour on my knees. I shall be there, awaiting your approach with burning anxiety, and longing to clasp you in these fond arms.
"With all the love in the wide world,
"Your most devoted slave,
"Jack."
The girls giggled.
"He's worse than ever this time," said Audrey.
"Got it badly," agreed Nellie.
"I wonder what his plan is," grinned Claire."I say, Patsie, what's 'Jack' going to do next?"
"Wait and see," remarked Patsie calmly. "I'm not going to give away his secrets beforehand. It will all unfold itself in due time."
"History essays, please!" said Claudia, who was working monitress for the week, and whose duty it was to collect the exercise-books and give them to Miss Kingsley. "Don't be all day about it, I'm in a hurry!"
"Here's mine," answered Lorraine. "And do you mind giving this note to Morland? It's a list of pieces by that new Russian composer, Vladi—something—ski. Rosemary sent it for him."
"Right you are!" said Claudia. "He's mad on Russian music just at present."
The bell rang at that moment and the girls trooped upstairs to their class-room. They had taken their seats, and Miss Turner was just in the act of opening her Latin book when Miss Janet came bustling in. Miss Janet's moods varied. This morning the corners of her mouth were tucked in and her eyes were inscrutable. The form instantly set her mental register at "stormy".
"Stand up, girls!" she commanded briskly. "Move from your desks and form into line over there, facing me!"
Exceedingly astonished, the form obeyed.
"Now each of you turn up your feet so as to show me the soles of your shoes, right first, then left. Thank you! Lorraine, whose shoes are damp, will go downstairs and change into her gymnasium shoes: the rest may take their seats."
Very much mystified the girls returned to their desks. Miss Janet departed, and Lorraine ran down to effect the required change. She could not understand Miss Janet's fussy solicitude for her health. She did not remember that the form had ever been examined thus for damp feet. She could only conclude that Miss Janet, who was apt to take sudden whims, had been studying a treatise on hygiene. At eleven o'clock she had a further surprise. Miss Paget brought her a message telling her to report herself to Miss Kingsley in the study. Wondering what was the matter, she answered the summons at once. She found Miss Kingsley and Miss Janet sitting together at the table with trouble writ large on their faces. The mental atmosphere of the room cut her like a knife, it was so unmistakably hostile.
"Lorraine," began Miss Kingsley sternly, "I've sent for you to ask you a straight question, and I expect a straight answer. Did you to-day bring to school a letter addressed to—er—a member of the opposite sex?"
Utterly amazed, Lorraine hesitated, then, remembering her note to Morland, replied;
"Yes, Miss Kingsley."
She wondered how the head mistress had got to know about it. Had Claudia been so careless as to leave it inside her exercise-book?
Miss Kingsley's glance was hypnotic in its intensity. The corners of Miss Janet's mouth twitched nervously.
"I'm glad you are candid enough to confessit, though I have ample proof against you.You, Lorraine! You, whom I chose as head girl, and leader for the rest of the school! I've never been so bitterly disappointed in anybody!"
Miss Kingsley's voice trembled as she spoke.
"You might at least have the grace to look ashamed of yourself!" added Miss Janet.
Lorraine was staggered, but not ashamed. She could not see that the occasion warranted such sweeping condemnation.
"It was a very harmless letter——" she began in self-justification.
"Harmless!" blazed Miss Kingsley. "If this is your idea of correspondence, I'm disgusted with you. I call it mostunmaidenly!"
"I don't know what modern girls are coming to!" echoed Miss Janet. "Inmyyoung days they held very different standards."
"It will be my duty," continued Miss Kingsley grimly, "to inform your mother of this disgraceful correspondence."
"But Mother knows!" gasped Lorraine.
"She knows?"
"Yes, she saw me write the letter."
"Did she read it?"
"No, she didn't ask to."
"Is she aware what you wrote in it?"
"I expect so."
"Lorraine, I can't believe you! I know Mrs. Forrester too well to imagine that she would allow you to carry on such a clandestine correspondence as this."
"But MotherlikesMorland," persisted Lorraine, "and Ihadto write to him, to send him Rosemary's list of pieces. She asked me to let him have them soon."
Miss Kingsley looked frankly puzzled.
"Morland?" she said inquiringly. "The letter is addressed to an individual named 'Jack'."
Then a great light broke across Lorraine. In her relief she almost laughed. Her suppressed chuckle was fortunately taken for a subdued sob.
"Oh, Miss Kingsley!" she cried. "Did you get the letter out of the hollow tree?"
The head mistress nodded gravely.
"Then it's all a mistake—it wasn't—written to anybody real. It was only a little bit of fun we had among ourselves. Pa—I mean one of us—made up 'Jack' and wrote his letters, and another of us answered them. It was only nonsense!"
"Did you write this?" asked Miss Janet grimly, handing a sheet of note-paper across the table.
It was in Vivien's handwriting, which bore a strong resemblance to Lorraine's own, and it was couched in terms strong enough certainly to rouse a flutter in the breast of a careful schoolmistress. It mourned Jack's absence, referred to turtle doves, Cupid's arrows, and other tender things, thanked him for handsome presents, and looked forward rapturously to the next meeting with him. It ended with fondest love, and was signed: "Your little Forget-me-not".
"No, I didn't write it," answered Lorraine.
"Then who did?"
Lorraine hesitated.
"As it was only a joke, will you please excuse my not answering? It doesn't seem quite fair to give anybody else away. The whole form were in it, really."
Miss Kingsley fixed her with a glance which Lorraine afterwards described as that of a lion-tamer. Then she summed up:
"As you all seem to have been equally foolish, I'll let the matter stand at that. But I wish to say that I've never in my life read more perfectly idiotic, senseless, worthlessdrivelthan is contained in these silly letters, and if that's your idea of amusement, I'm sorry for you! I should have thought thatyou, Lorraine, would have been above such nonsense, and would have used your influence to interest the girls in something more sensible. These letters must be stopped at once. I distinctly forbid anything more of the sort, and you may tell the others so. Do you understand?"
Miss Kingsley, as she spoke, tore 'Jack's' latest effusion into shreds, and threw the bits into the waste-paper basket.
A very dejected and indignant Sixth Form listened to Lorraine's account of the interview.
"Miss Janet must have fished some of the letters out of that tree, and read them and put them back!"
"What a sneaking trick of her!"
"And she thought it was you, because you'd got your feet wet."
"Sporting of her to examine our shoes! It's like Sherlock Holmes!"
"Sporting! I call it disgusting!"
"Is poor darling 'Jack'neverto write again to his little 'Forget-me-not'?" demanded Vivien, with a note of tragedy in her voice.
"We'd better drown him, or kill him at the front, or let him die suddenly of pneumonia!" said Patsie sadly. "Then you can look decently sorry for a while. It reallyistoo bad, just when I was working up so nicely for the elopement! He was buying a new car on purpose. Never mind! I'll write a novel some day, when I've left school, and I'll put all the letters in—every scrap of them. And when it's published, I'll send a copy of it to Miss Janet!"
"Oh!" thrilled the excited circle.
"She'll saythen: 'The dear girl! I always said she was clever, and would turn out a famous authoress!' People generally say afterwards that they 'always said'."
"Oh, Patsie! Itwillbe so delightful! Do begin it soon!"
"Not till I leave school, and that's a whole term and a half off, with the Easter holidays thrown in. You'll have to wait!"
The fresh year flew on wings. The snowdrops—fair maids of February—faded in the school garden, and their pale, ethereal, green-tipped blossoms were replaced by golden daffodils that seemed to reflect the stronger sunshine. Mezereon and other fragrant shrubs put out sweet-scented flowers, and the great white arum lilies were throwing up their sheaths. Violets and early primroses might be searched for under sheltered hedgerows, and the Japanese cherry-trees were bursting into bud. Mother Nature seemed to be shaking her garments, and getting ready for the great carnival of Spring.
With the longer days, Lorraine was often up at Windy Howe. It was the sort of household where you could arrive at any time without presenting an apology for your intrusion.
"You must take us just as you find us," said Claudia. "You know I'm glad to see you, Lorraine, but I shan't treat you as a visitor, and have you shown into the drawing-room. You don't mind?"
Claudia was sitting in the nursery, rocking thelatest addition to the Castleton family, a tiny white bundle, with golden down on its pink head. She nursed it dutifully, patting its back with the experience gained with seven other younger brothers and sisters.
"Yes, it's rather sweet," she agreed, in answer to a comment from Lorraine. "I'd like them all right if they didn't cry so much; it's such a nuisance when they're perpetually squalling. The fact is I'm fed up with children. I never seem able to get away from them here. I've the greatest difficulty in doing my home lessons. Violet's always asking me to take the baby or Perugia, and Lilith and Constable are generally tearing about somewhere, to say nothing of Beata and Romola and Madox. Lorraine, I'vequitemade up my mind. I'm seventeen now, and I'm leaving school this summer. I'mnotgoing to stay at home and just help with the children! It isn't good enough!"
"What would you like to do?" asked Lorraine, watching with sympathy while her friend made another effort to soothe the obstreperous new little brother to sleep.
"I don't know!" said Claudia forlornly. "I don't seem good for anything except to do odd jobs. Perhaps I'll go on the land. It would be a change to make hay and hoe turnips. I should be away from Violet, anyhow. We've been squabbling again dreadfully of late. I can't stand it much longer. If Morland's called up, I'm going off too. I don't care where!"
She spoke resentfully, almost desperately; Lorrainehad not seen her in such a mood before. She had sometimes guessed that her friend was not altogether happy at home, though until to-day she had never received such a big slice of Claudia's confidence.
"Couldn't you go to college—or to study something?" she suggested vaguely.
The baby was crying so lustily that conversation was difficult. Claudia's remarks were punctuated by the regular tap-tap of the rockers on her chair.
"I've asked Father, but it's no use; he won't send me. He says it's Beata's and Romola's turn now, and they must go to school. Life's horrid—I just hate it all!"
The baby, lifting up a despairing wail, also protested against the evils of existence.
"Poor little man! He doesn't like life either!" soothed Claudia. "There! There! Are his toes cold? Sissie'll warm them for him. It's no use; I shall have to take him to Violet, and she's trying to write letters!"
This little peep behind the scenes at Windy Howe made Lorraine feel worried about Claudia. The next time she went to the studio by the harbour, she talked the matter over. Margaret Lindsay knew the Castleton family so well that she might be counted upon for advice.
"Claudia's simply fed up!" explained Lorraine. "It's partly the children, but principally Violet. I don't think I should like to live with Violet myself."
"Perhaps not, yet she has her good points.On the whole I think she's very decent to all those step-children. With her own little tribe as well, it must be difficult to manage the household. But I sympathize with Claudia. When she leaves school I'm sure it will be far the best plan for her to go away from home for a while."
"But her father won't let her!"
"Suppose she could win a scholarship? I fancy that would smooth the way."
"Oh, do you think she could?"
"Suppose you ask Miss Kingsley if she can suggest any career for Claudia? She's sure to be interested in her pupils' plans for the future. I certainly think it's a shame for the girl to be kept at home acting nursemaid to the younger ones. I'd willingly tackle Mr. Castleton some day and have a little talk with him about Claudia, if there's any plan to propose. I knew her own mother, so that gives me a pull. I'd speak to Violet, too. I dare say she'd be quite nice about it."
"Oh, Carina, I wish you would! I think Claudia has a wretched time. Do you know, the children got hold of the album I gave her for her birthday, and they scribbled all over it? And Violet didn't even scold them. Wasn't it trying? She lets them scramble about everywhere and do what they like. Claudia's so worried, she says her hair's beginning to fall out."
"I didn't know her hair was falling out. She'd better cut it short, in that case. She mustn't on any account let that lovely hair be neglected."
Miss Kingsley, on being appealed to, was deeply interested. She talked things over with Miss Janet, and they came at once to a conclusion. There was nothing for it but a good kindergarten training. There were several open scholarships for a kindergarten college whose principal was an intimate friend of theirs. They would write about it at once, and Claudia must go in for the examination. They would make a point of coaching her specially. In their minds the whole matter was already decided. It would be a splendid chance for the girl, so they said. That wise old Greek slave Æsop, who knew human nature so well that his fables are as true to life now as they were two thousand years ago, tells the story of a king who wished to fortify his castle. He asked advice, and the mason recommended bricks, the carpenter wood, and the tanner leather. Each thought his own trade supreme. The Misses Kingsley were perfectly sure that Claudia, who was experienced with children, would succeed admirably in kindergarten work. They even saw visions of her being established some day at The Gables in the capacity of a mistress.
Claudia, on being introduced to her future prospects, gasped a little. She acquiesced, but did not look quite as grateful as her friends had anticipated.
"I'd get away from home, at any rate! And that would be something!" was all she would say to Lorraine.
"It would be a career!" said Lorraine, fresh from a brainy, bracing talk with Miss Janet. "Onceyou've got your training, you'll be independent and able to earn your own living."
"Um—yes——" Claudia spoke without enthusiasm. "I wonder what the college would be like? Jolly hard work, I expect!"
"Miss Janet says it's adorable!"
"Oh! There are several scholarships. I wish you'd go in for one and come too; then we should be together."
It was Lorraine's turn to look blank. It is one thing to recommend a vocation to a friend, and quite another to take it up yourself. Viewed from her own standpoint, the joys of a kindergarten training did not seem so attractive. She began to wonder whether Miss Janet had overstated them and the delights of independence.
"I—I don't know yet whether I want to leave home, and if I do, I'm going to study art!" she stammered lamely.
"I wish I could study music, but there's not the faintest little atom of a chance of doing that," returned Claudia bitterly.
Nevertheless, at Miss Kingsley'sinsistence, she set to work diligently to read up for the open scholarship examination. Miss Janet kindly coached her, and gave up many hours of leisure on her behalf. Claudia was quite clever at lessons when she chose to apply herself. The progress she made under this private tuition delighted Miss Janet. Miss Kingsley wrote fully to her friend the principal of the college, and received a most encouraging reply.
"The girl you mention seems just the kind of student we wish to procure at present," wrote Miss Halden. "I am allowed a certain liberty of selection, and, so long as a candidate's marks do not fall below a given standard, I may make my own choice. I am not necessarily obliged to award the scholarships to those who send in the best papers, but to those who, after a personal interview, I consider would in the end make the most successful teachers. There are other qualifications to consider besides examination points. Charm of manner is an extremely valuable asset in dealing with children; and I would rather train a girl who is gifted with imagination and tact than the most erudite student who is deficient in these necessary qualities. If Claudia Castleton is what you say, and you can coach her sufficiently to gain a pass, I think she may be almost sure of a scholarship."
The Misses Kingsley were most excited at the receipt of this letter. They did not tell Claudia its full contents for fear she might slack off work, but they could not help throwing out hints.
"It's something to have friends at Court!" beamed Miss Janet, as she put on her pince-nez and took her pupil for Latin construction. "You see, we know Miss Halden so very well. I fancy there's luck in store for you, Claudia!"
"Yes," said Claudia dolefully, as she looked up a last word in the dictionary.
Margaret Lindsay had taken the opportunity of a visit to the studio at Windy Howe to speak to Mr. Castleton on the subject of the possible scholarship.He was busy painting at the time, and far more interested in the proper perspective of his background than in his daughter's future prospects. He agreed abstractedly with anything that was suggested.
"If they'll give her a free training, let her go by all means—don't you think that pearly grey throws the cliff into relief?—I've no doubt Miss Kingsley's right—I think that gorse-bush is an improvement—yes, she's getting a big girl, I suppose—I had made the cliff darker, but I like the sun on it—the children grow up so fast—I'm glad you like that shade of brown under the rock, because I consider it brings out the whole picture."
Young, pretty Mrs. Castleton, on being appealed to, burst into tragic tears.
"I'm sureIdon't want to stand in the girl's light," she sobbed. "If it's the right thing for her to leave home, I suppose she must; but nobody need sayI'veturned her out. I shouldn't have thought it would be any more fun teaching kindergarten than helping to look after her own brothers and sisters! However, that's a matter of opinion, and I've always tried to do my best by my husband's children, but it's small thanks one gets for it all."
The examination for the scholarship was to be held in London, and candidates were required to fill up beforehand certain papers of application and forward them to the College. The forms arrived on the very last day of term. Miss Janet summoned Claudia to the study and gave them to her.
"They must be signed by your father," she explained, "and you must post them not later than the sixth. The envelope is already addressed, and my sister and I have filled in our part of the application. All you have to do is to get Mr. Castleton's signature. When Miss Halden receives these papers, she will send you a card of admission for the examination. That will not be for three weeks, so I shall see you again before you have to go up to London. Be sure to go on with your work during the holidays, and give special attention to Latin grammar."
"Yes, Miss Janet," said Claudia dutifully, taking the large envelope and slipping it into her coat pocket.
"Post it to-morrow," urged Miss Janet, as she dismissed her pupil from the study.
The advent of Easter saw Rosemary again at Porthkeverne. She not only returned for the holidays, but "came back for good". The secret which had haunted and puzzled Lorraine since Christmas was out at last. Rosemary had written home and told the plain, unvarnished, brutal truth.
"Signor Arezzo says it's no use my going on. He'll never be able to make anything of my voice. I've been at the Coll. two terms, and tried my best, but he says it's futile—I'm only fit to warble in a small drawing-room to friends who are not over-critical, and it's a waste of money to stop on here!"
This was indeed a blow. It was a very crushed, disappointed, miserable little Rosemary who returned to the bosom of her bewildered family. Atfirst they would not believe the severe decision, and passed through the stages of denial, indignation, and annoyance to realization and resignation. It is so very humiliating to find out that your swan, about whom you have cackled so proudly, turns out to be only an ordinary, domestic, farm-yard bird after all.
Evidently the first thing to be done was to comfort Rosemary. She needed it badly. She went about the house a pathetic little figure, with big wistful eyes.
"I'm heart-broken, Muvvie!" she sobbed in confidence.
"Never mind, darling; we want you at home if they don't want you at the College! You can go in for V.A.D. work, and help at the Red Cross Hospital. It's delightful for me to have my daughter back. You don't know how I shall appreciate your company!"
"But I feel I'm such a failure!"
"Not at all! You simply haven't slipped into your right niche yet. People sometimes make bad shots before they find their vocations. Cheer up! Your singing is a great pleasure to us, if it's not fit for a concert platform."
"I never want to sing another note in all my life!" declared Rosemary.
Little by little details of the tragedy leaked out. Lorraine heard many of them, sitting on her sister's bed, while Rosemary ruefully unpacked the boxes of music and the tea-things and all the other treasured trifles she had taken to the College.
"He says I haven't the physique for a singer. I've not got enough 'puff' in my lungs. You should see Maudie Canning, his favourite pupil. She has the most enormous chest, and such a throat! Just look at mine!" (Rosemary was examining herself in the glass as she spoke.) "It stands to reason, if an organ hasn't proper pipes and bellows, it can't sound. You want such a big voice to fill a concert-hall."
"But couldn't you go on with music just for yourself?"
"Signor Arezzo doesn't care to bother with amateurs. His time is so valuable that he gives it all to promising students only. No, I've quite made up my mind never to sing again! Don't argue with me! It's no use, and only makes me feel irritable. I tell you I'm heart-broken!"
It was terrible to have Rosemary in such a disconsolate mood. It seemed to throw a blight over the whole family. Lorraine was immensely concerned. In her trouble she turned instinctively to the studio by the harbour. Margaret Lindsay, who herself had weathered many troubles, was an expert in the art of comfort.
"Rosemary's heart is broken!" said Lorraine tragically, sitting on the window-seat in the sunshine, and squeezing her friend's arm.
"Poor child! Tell her that some of the best things in the world have been done on broken hearts! She's very young yet, and I'm sure she's wanted at home."
"That's what Mother says."
"And perhaps she mightn't have liked public singing. It isn't all applause and bouquets. I know several professionals, and they talk of long, weary railway journeys, and uncomfortable hotels, and many disagreeables that show a very shady lining to the life. Somehow I can far more easily fancy little Rosemary happily married and settled down in a home of her own, than touring about to concerts. You mustn't let her give up her singing! She'll make a most delightful amateur."
"She scorns the word 'amateur'."
"She's feeling sore at present, but she'll get over that stage, I hope. I'm not sure if an amateur hasn't infinitely the best of it. I often wish I were an amateur artist. You skim the cream in the matter of enjoyment, without any of the responsibility. In six months I hope Rosemary will think differently, and will be the star of the musical parties at Porthkeverne, if she can't shine on the stage."
"It's a come-down for her, all the same," groaned Lorraine. "I wish she could marry a duke! But no dukes ever come to Porthkeverne. Perhaps she won't marry at all. Some of the nicest people I know haven't married."
Margaret Lindsay looked out far away over the dancing, gleaming water before she answered; Lorraine could not see the shadow in her eyes.
"Sometimes it's the person whom youdon'tmarry whom you love the most: the beautiful ideal is never shattered by the actual—it stays up in the clouds always, instead of trailing down to earth."
Lorraine was lost in contemplation of her sister's future prospects.
"If she doesn't marry, she'll have to brace up and go in for some other vocation," she decided. "Miss Kingsley says one ought to look years ahead, but somehow I can't imagine Rosemary ever being middle-aged."
"It's an art to grow grey gracefully," smiled Margaret Lindsay.
In spite of her real concern for Rosemary's disappointment, Lorraine enjoyed the Easter holidays. There was much to be done in them. Morland and Claudia were anxious to revisit the Sea-Nymph's Grotto, which had been neglected during the winter, so with Landry in attendance they chose a fine day, and had another delightful picnic there. Fortunately the tides had not reached as high as the mouth of the cave, and their "furniture" was undisturbed; even the shell patterns remained as formerly, though the sea-weed was brown and shrivelled. That was a matter easily remedied, however, for the rock pools below were full of pink and green algæ, and corallines beautiful enough for a mermaid's bouquet.
"It would be a ripping place for a hermit," said Morland. "I expect it beats a dug-out hollow. I shall often think of it when I'm called up!"
"Me go to the war too!" said Landry suddenly.
He spoke so seldom that Claudia turned in surprise.
"No, Landry, dear, I couldn't spare you."
"But Morland's going!"
"All the more reason why you should stay at home and take care of me."
"Me want to be with youboth," said Landry fretfully.
"But that can't be. The Government will send papers, and then Morland will have to go."
There was trouble in the boy's blue eyes; his poor dull brain seemed to be making a supreme effort to understand. He spoke again, still in the language of a little child.
"Landry will take the nasty papers and hide them, and then Morland stay at home."
"No, no, dear! Landry couldn't do that," laughed Claudia, fondling his hand. "You must be my good boy and look after me when he's gone."
Landry relapsed once more into his habitual silence, but it was evident that a new and unusual access of thought was stirring in his feeble mind. He kept looking at Morland with awakened interest. Lorraine, watching, wondered what was the result of his cogitations. His own sister and brother, accustomed to his moods, took no more notice of an occurrence that seemed trivial at the moment, but afterwards bore unexpected fruit.
"When we've made the cave so nice, it seems almost a pity to keep itquiteto ourselves," suggested Morland after a pause.
"Why, but we all pledged ourselves to absolute secrecy!"
"I know we did."
"Whom do you want to bring here?" enquired Claudia suspiciously.
"Oh, nobody in particular. Only Madame Bertier was asking me one day if there were any caves along the coast. I thought she'd like to see this one."
"You're not to bring that Russian woman here! I don't like her. I hope you did not tell her about it?"
"Of course not!"
"Honest Injun?"
"Crystal clear I didn't!"
"It'soursecret, andnobodyis to know," said Claudia, still ruffled. "Let us all take a sort of oath!"
"Right oh!Ishan't break it!" agreed Lorraine emphatically.
"Will you swear, Morland?" urged Claudia.
"Who's going to tell?" asked Morland huffily. "What a fuss you girls make about nothing. The cave might be full of diamonds instead of only shells!"
"Only shells, indeed!" Claudia's tone was belligerent.
"I wish you'd both help me to collect some shells," put in Lorraine, trying to patch up peace. "I want some more desperately badly for the museum."
A duty which Lorraine had undertaken during the holidays was the arrangement of the school museum. She was the curator, but during term time she was so fully occupied that she had neverbeen able to sort and label the specimens which the girls had brought to her. The whole collection had been so far stored away in boxes. Now, however, Miss Kingsley had set apart special premises for the museum. There was an unused room at The Gables that in the days of former tenants had been occupied by the coachman. It adjoined the house, but was approached by an outside staircase from the yard. It had been filled with lumber, but Miss Kingsley had had this cleared away, the floor had been scrubbed, and some old desks moved in to serve as cases for the specimens.
Miss Kingsley and Miss Janet had gone away for Easter, and the servants were also taking a much-needed rest. The Gables therefore was shut up for the holidays, though the charwoman, who lived in a cottage close by, went in to scrub and clean. Before leaving, Miss Kingsley had given Lorraine the key of the museum, so that she might enter it when she wished, quite independently of going to the house.
Lorraine spent very happy mornings there—sometimes alone, sometimes with Claudia to help her. With the aid of natural history books from the school library, she identified and labelled the specimens to the best of her ability. It was a quiet kind of work that appealed to her. She felt that the room was going to be a tremendous acquisition to the school. All sorts of treasures could find a home on the walls, secure from the meddlesome fingers of juniors. She intended to keep it as a sort of sanctum for the monitresses, and had visionsof holding committee meetings there, and bringing tea in thermos flasks.
One morning she had arranged to spend a little time at the museum and to meet Claudia, who had promised to come and help her. The trysting-place was the old windmill, and Lorraine stood there waiting. Claudia was late—the Castleton family were always late for everything—and Lorraine walked impatiently up and down the road. Footsteps coming round the corner made her turn expectantly. To her surprise, the new-comer was not her friend, but her uncle, Mr. Barton Forrester.
"Why, Uncle!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing up here? I thought you were so busy at the office?"
"So I am; and I ought to be at work now. This is what comes of being a special constable! There's a pretty to-do to-day! The telephone wires have been cut, and the job is to discoverwhere!"
"The telephone wires cut!" echoed Lorraine. "But who has cut them?"
"Some spy, I suppose. One has constantly to be on the lookout for treachery, especially in a place like this. If we could only find out where the leakage is! There, Lorraine, I can't stay. I've got to see Mr. Jermyn immediately."
Uncle Barton—busy, energetic little man that he was—waved his hand to his niece and hurried away up the road, just as Claudia, also in a hurry, turned the corner. Lorraine cut short her apologies with the news about the telephone wires.
"It means," she explained, "that, until they find the place and can mend it, Porthkeverne's cut off by telephone from all other places. You may depend upon it, as Uncle says, there's some treachery at the bottom of this. Isn't it horrible to think that there may be spies in the town, ready to betray one's country?"
"Dreadful!" shuddered Claudia. "They ought to intern everyone who's the least bit under suspicion."
The two girls walked rapidly to The Gables, and went into the school-yard and up the outside staircase. Lorraine had the key in her pocket, and unlocked the museum. Directly she entered, she noticed that the room was not as she had left it. Some of the desks and boxes had certainly been moved. She remembered exactly how she had placed them yesterday. Her first thought was that Mrs. Jones, the charwoman, must have been in to clean; but that was clearly impossible, for she herself had the key. Who could have intruded into the sanctum, and for what reason? She discussed it with Claudia. It gave them both a most uncanny feeling to think that someone had been able to enter. The Gables was practically shut up. Had a burglar been picking the locks during Miss Kingsley's absence? There seemed to be nothing in the museum likely to excite the cupidity of even an amateur thief; the specimens, though interesting to the school, were of no monetary value. Lorraine's glance went slowly round the room, and took in the desks and boxes, the walls, onwhich she had pinned natural history prints, and finally wandered up to the ceiling. Ah, here was a clue at last! The trap-door in the corner had certainly been moved—it did not now quite fit down. There was about an inch of light to be seen round its edge. A horrible idea suggested itself to the girls.Suppose somebody was in hiding up there!
The bare notion blanched their cheeks. With one accord they fled from the room, locked the door on the outside, and scurried down the steps. In the yard they paused. What was to be done next? They did not feel capable of tackling a possible burglar unaided, yet it seemed rather weak to run away.
"Let's fetch Morland!" said Claudia.
The suggestion seemed a good one. Lorraine was only too content to throw herself upon masculine aid. They walked at double speed to Windy Howe, and hauled Morland from the piano. He stopped in the middle of a Brahms sonata, and offered at once to go back with them to the school.
"You see, Miss Kingsley and everybody's away, and there's only the charwoman about," explained Lorraine. "I know she'd be worse scared than ourselves if we told her."
"Right-o! I'll go and investigate," agreed Morland, rather pleased to show his courage before the girls.
So they all three went back to the museum, and here Morland placed desks and boxes together,and mounted on them so as to reach the trap-door, through which he wriggled. The girls held the pile steady, and watched his long legs disappear through the opening.
"It leads on to the roof!" he shouted. "I'll climb up and explore. I'm in a sort of garret with a ladder in the corner."
To the waiting girls it seemed a very long time before Morland returned. At last, however, they heard his footsteps overhead, and he called to them to hold the erection while he came down. It was with a sense of relief that they saw his boots issue through the trap-door. They had had an idea that he might have disappeared for ever.
"Well?"
"Did you see anybody?"
Morland shook his head. He was dusting his sleeves, and trying to rub the dirt off his hands.
"I didn't catch a burglar, but I've made a discovery," he said slowly.
"What?"
The girls were half-frightened, half-thrilled.
"I've been on the roof. Did you know the telephone wires run over the school?"
"I never noticed."
"Well, they do. And what's more, they've been cut!"
"Great Scott!"
"Whoever did it has been very clever. It was a unique spot to get at them, and impossible to be seen from the road."
"I must tell Uncle Bartonat once!" gaspedLorraine breathlessly. "It's exactly what he was wanting to find out!"
"We'd better ask Mrs. Jones if anybody has been hanging about the place," suggested Claudia.
The charwoman, on being interviewed, assured them that nobody had been to the school. There was only one key to the museum, so it could not have been entered in their absence.
"Did you leave the window open?" asked Morland of Lorraine.
"I believe I did, just a little at the top."
"Well, don't you notice that the leads below the window communicate with one of the bedroom windows of the school? Any one inside The Gables could step out and get into the museum that way."
"But Mrs. Jones says nobody has been in the school, didn't you, Mrs. Jones?"
"Yes, miss, no one but myself—except—yes, I do remember, one of the teachers came and asked if she might fetch a book she'd forgotten, and I let her go in."
"Which teacher was it?"
"That foreign lady."
"Madame Bertier?"
"I don't know her name. She wasn't there more than a few minutes."
"Oh!" said Lorraine thoughtfully. "Thank you, Mrs. Jones!"
Uncle Barton also looked thoughtful, when Lorraine described to him the whole occurrence. He wrote a note at once to the Chief Constable, to tellhim where the telephone wires were cut, and sent the office boy to deliver it. Then he asked for any details his niece could supply.
"You're a little brick!" he commented. "There's treachery at work somewhere, undoubtedly, but the question is how to lay our hands on it. Can I trust you and the Castletons just to keep this dark for the present? I'd rather it wasn't noised all about the place. I've my own ideas, and I want to work them out in my own way."
"Shall I say anything about it to Madame Bertier?" asked Lorraine.
"Most decidedly not! Please don't mention the matter to anybody. You can givemethe key of the museum till Miss Kingsley returns. You don't need to go there again at present?"
"I'd be scared to death!" confessed Lorraine.
In spite of Uncle Barton Forrester's injunctions, the episode of the cut telephone wires became known. The Castletons on their return home had found Madame Bertier in their father's studio, sitting for her portrait, and, being full of the exciting subject, had poured out their story. The pretty Russian was aghast.
"It is too horrible!" she exclaimed; "to have happened while Miss Kingsley is away! Some burglar would be bad—but it is perhaps a spy. I was at The Gables yesterday, just for a moment, to fetch a book. I saw nothing! Had I met anyone I should indeed have been very alarmed! The police will no doubt keep the house under observation now."
"The question is how anybody got into the room when it was locked," said Claudia.
"Perhaps they brought a ladder. You say the window was left open?"
"Yes, but it's shut and fastened now. Whoever came wouldn't be able to get in so easily again."
The Easter holidays were nearly over, and in a few days the Miss Kingsleys would be back to look after their own property, and take what precautions they thought fit against burglars or spies. At the near prospect of term time, Claudia, whose spirits had effervesced lately, suddenly waxed serious. Lorraine could not make out what was the matter with her.
"You look about as cheerful as an undertaker, old sport!" she remonstrated. "Something's got on your nerves!"
"I'm in a beastly hole," admitted Claudia, with a gusty sigh. "I know I'm a slacker."
"What have you been doing?"
"Something awful!"
"Go ahead and confess, then!"
They were sitting in the garden at Windy Howe, resting after planting some rows of peas, and sheltering under a tree from the heavy drops of a sudden April shower. Claudia pulled off her gardening gloves, and rested a delicately-modelled chin upon a prettily-shaped hand. There was desperate trouble in her blue eyes.
"I'm scared to go back to school, and that's the fact! I've done an awful thing! The day we brokeup, Miss Janet gave me some papers to be signed and sent in to the Kindergarten College. She said they must be posted before the 6th. I put them in my coat pocket. Well—I've only just remembered them."
Lorraine was aghast.
"Claudia! Your application for the exam! Howcouldyou forget?"
"I don't know, but I did!" groaned the sinner.
"When did you remember?"
"Only this morning. I hadn't worn my coat during the holidays, it was too hot. I put it on this morning to run to the town to shop for Violet, and stuck my hand in my pocket, and found that wretched envelope."
"But did you never think of it once during the holidays? I should have thought studying would bring it to your mind."
"I haven't done any studying—I was so dead sick of lessons," confessed Claudia. "I've just been playing about with the children all the time."
"Oh!"
Lorraine's tone was eloquent.
"WhatwillMiss Janet say?" speculated Claudia gloomily.
What, indeed? Lorraine did not dare to anticipate what would happen at The Gables on the receipt of such news. Only a member of the haphazard Castleton family would have been capable of such a shiftless act. It was exactly what Morland would have done, but Lorraine had expected better things from Claudia.