Three Girls from School
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warm, And rubs against my knee, I think we're safe from every harm, My pretty cat and me.
"Oh Mabel, Mabel! you are a humbug."
"I hate cats!" burst from Mabel.
Annie turned pale for a minute; but her self-composure did not longdesert her. "Being a poet, you know, you're quite certain to be alittle mad at times," she remarked. "All poets are. I suppose you hada mad fit, dear Mabel, when you wrote about your favourite cat. Ithought so."
"I think so, and I think I am mad now," said Mabel, marching away fromthe others as she spoke, and plunging into the cool depths of thepaddock.
At that moment, more than cats, she hated herself; she hated Annie; shehated Priscilla. What an awful tissue of lies she was weaving roundherself! Surely another year at Mrs Lyttelton's school would have beenmuch better than this. But, alas! it is not given to us to retrace oursteps. Mabel had taken up a position, and there was nothing for it nowbut to abide by it. To confess all that she had done, to demand themoney back from Priscilla, to stay on at school, were greater feats thanshe had courage to perform; and even if she were willing to do this, wasnot Annie always by her side--Annie, who did not repent, who wasfeathering her own nest so nicely, and who was priding herself on havingovercome the immense difficulty of proving poor, stupid Mabel a poet?
The great day of the prize-giving followed soon after, and, to theunbounded astonishment of the girls, Mabel Lushington's essay on"Idealism" won the first literature prize.
The essays were not read by the girls themselves, but by one of theteachers who had a beautiful voice and that dear enunciation which makesevery word tell. The vote in favour of Mabel was unanimous. Her paperhad thought; it had even style. In all respects it was far above theproduction of an ordinary schoolgirl, and beyond doubt it was far andaway the best essay written.
Priscilla's paper passed muster, but it did not even win the secondprize. Mabel looked quite modest and strikingly handsome when the greatprize was bestowed upon her--a magnificent edition of all the greatEnglish poets, bound in calf and bearing the school coat-of-arms.
Mrs Lyttelton, more astonished than pleased, was nevertheless forced tocongratulate Mabel. She turned soon afterwards to one of the girls.
"I must confess," she said, "that I never was so surprised in my life."
"I should have been just as amazed as you," answered Constance, "but forthe fact that there is far more in Mabel than any one has the least ideaof. She is a poet, you know."
"A poet, my dear?"
"Yes; indeed she is. We simply would not believe it; but she read ussome of her verses. A few, of course, were nothing but drivel; butthere were lines on the sunset which quite amazed me, for they were fullof thought."
"I am glad to hear it, Constance; nevertheless, I may as well confess toyou that my feelings at the present moment are mingled ones. I wantedPriscilla to win the prize."
Meanwhile Mabel, surrounded by glory--her schoolfellows and thedifferent visitors who had come to the school for the occasion crowdinground her and congratulating her--had no longer any feeling of remorse.She acknowledged that Annie was right, and loved Annie, for the timebeing, with all her heart.
It was Annie herself who took the telegram to the post-office to conveythe great information to Lady Lushington. It was Annie herself who wasthe happy recipient of the reply which came later on that evening. Thewords of Lady Lushington's telegram were brief:
"Congratulation. True to my word. Join me in Paris on Friday. Writingto Mrs Lyttelton."
The three girls with whom this story first opened were together oncemore in the private sitting-room at Lyttelton School. When Mabel hadread her telegram she flung it across to Priscilla.
"Then all is well," she said; "and we owe it to Annie."
"Yes," said Priscilla. "And I have had a telegram," she added, "an hourago. It is from Uncle Josiah. He wishes me to remain with MrsLyttelton daring the vacation. He doesn't care that I should returnhome at present."
"Well, that will suit you exactly, won't it?" said Annie.
"I suppose so. I only wonder what Mrs Lyttelton will say."
"And I am going to my uncle. We all break up to-morrow; but you and Ishall meet again in the autumn, Priscilla. You will have to saygood-bye to dear old Mabel now."
"You must wish me luck," said Mabel. "I won't forget my part; you needhave no anxiety about your school fees."
"Uncle Josiah seems pleased on the whole that I should remain," answeredPriscilla, "although I cannot make out the wording of his telegram; butI do wonder what arrangement he will make for paying Mrs Lyttelton."
"If he cannot pay her you ought to go back," said Annie, who did not atall wish to have this additional expense laid at Mabel's door. Shewished as much as possible of Mabel's money should be devoted toherself. "But I suppose you will hear in the morning."
"Yes; I suppose so," said Priscilla.
"You look pretty miserable, Priscie. I wonder why, seeing all thatMabel and I have done for you."
"All that _I_ have done for _you_, you mean," said Priscilla.
"Well, I like that," said Annie.
"I will speak out for once," said Priscilla, her eyes flashing fire andher pale face becoming suffused with colour. "I have gone under, and Ihate myself. The hour of triumph to-day ought to have been mine. Don'tyou suppose that I feel it? I loathe myself so deeply that I don'tthink I am even a good enough girl to help my aunt in the house-work athome; and I pity the village dressmaker who would have me apprenticed toher. I am so bad that I loathe myself. Oh, you think that I shall behappy. You don't know me; I can never be happy again!"
Mabel's face immediately became pale. She looked at Priscilla as thoughshe were going to cry. It was Annie who took the bull by the horns.
"Now, this is sheer nonsense," she said. "You know perfectly well,Priscilla, that no better thing could have been done than what hashappened to-day. In the first place, you are not disgraced, for theessay you read was quite creditable. It ought to have been, indeed,seeing that it was my work. And, in the second place, you have a year'sschooling guaranteed. With your brains, think what you will achieve--afine scholarship at least, and then Girton as your reward. You mean tosay that for the sake of some little pricks of conscience you would nottake these advantages? Of course you will! Indeed, you have done so,so there's no good saying anything more about it."
"I know there isn't," said Priscilla. "I don't expect sympathy; Ideserve all that I can get." She left the room as she spoke.
"Oh, isn't she quite too dreadful?" said Annie.
"I don't know," answered Mabel; "I expect I'd feel much the same if Iwere she."
The next day Priscilla received a letter from her uncle. She hadwritten to tell him that the funds for another year's schooling had beenprovided for her.
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"My dear Priscilla," he wrote, "I am more disappointed than glad at yournews; but of course, if a friend wants to pay for your schooling, Idon't interfere. You say that you hope to win a scholarship at the endof the term. That may or may not be the case. All that I can say isthat I hope you will get it, for it is my intention to wash my hands ofyou. I made you a sensible offer, and you have rejected it. Your auntand I agree that as you are too grand for us, _we_, on our part, are toopoor for you. Henceforth you may look to your father in India for anyassistance you may require. But as I don't want to be hard on you, I amwilling to pay a small sum for your support during the coming holidays,which I wish you to spend at Lyttelton School. I enclose moneyherewith--five pounds. I have no doubt the mistress will keep you forthat for it will more than cover your consumption of food.
"Good-bye, my dear Priscilla. I look upon you as an instance of want ofgratitude. You are too fine a lady for your aunt and me.--Your uncle,Josiah."
CHAPTER NINE.
THE RECTOR.
It was a pretty old Rectory to which Annie Brooke was going in
order tospend the first week of her holidays. It was situated on the borders ofWales, and the scenery was superb. Mountains surrounded it, and seemed,after a fashion, to shut it in. But these glorious mountains, withtheir ever-changing, ever-shifting effects of light and shade, theirdark moments, their moments of splendour, were all lost upon such anature as that of Annie Brooke.
She hated the Rectory. Her feelings towards Uncle Maurice were onlythose of toleration.
She loathed the time she spent there, and now the one thought in herbreast was the feeling that her emancipation was near, and that verysoon she would be on her way to gay Paris to join Mabel