A Secret Sorority
The dormitories at the Villa Camellia were among the main features of
the establishment, and were a source of considerable pride and
satisfaction to the principals, Miss Rodgers and Miss Morley. They were
always shown to parents as the very latest and newest development of
school arrangements. Some of them were on the second story and some were
on the third, but all had French windows opening onto long verandas on
which were placed large pots of geraniums or oleanders. The walls were
covered with striped Italian papers, the frieze being color-washed and
decorated with designs of flowers or birds, the woodwork was white, the
beds were enameled white, and the blankets, instead of being cream or
yellow as they are in England, were all of a uniform shade of pale blue,
with blue eider-downs to match. The whole of the house was heated by
radiators, so that the dormitories were always warm, and were used as
studies by the older girls, who did most of their preparation there. A
table with ink-pots stood in the middle of each room, and a large notice
enjoining, "Silence during study hours" hung as a warning over every
fireplace.
Irene was given a vacant bed in No. 3 on the second floor, and found
herself in company with Elsie Craig, Mabel Hughes, and Lorna Carson. For
the first two she felt no attraction, but the last excited her interest
and curiosity. There was an air of mystery about Lorna; she asked
questions but gave little information in return on the subject of her
own concerns. Her bright dark eyes were unfathomable, and she "kept
herself to herself" with a reserved dignity not very common among
schoolgirls of her age. Irene, who loved to chatter, found Lorna a ready
listener, and, although the confidence was not reciprocated and in
consequence the friendship seemed likely to be rather one-sided, it was
a friendship all the same from the very start. At the end of the week,
moreover, something important happened to cement it.
For the first seven days of her residence at the Villa Camellia Irene
had felt herself "goods on approval." Peachy Proctor and her chums had
indeed given her a welcome, but afterwards they had held back a little
as if testing her before offering further intimacy. There seemed to be
some secret bond amongst them, some alliance carefully hidden from the
general public. She caught nods, signs, mysterious words, and veiled
allusions, all of which were instantly suppressed when her presence was
noticed. On the eighth day after arrival she found a note inside her
desk. It was marked--
PRIVATE
This must be opened in _absolute seclusion_
and
its contents must be treated with the
_Strictest Confidence_
A crowded classroom, with inquisitive form-mates ready to peep over her
shoulder, did not seem the congenial atmosphere for the opening of the
missive, so Irene was obliged to curb her curiosity until mid-morning
"interval," when she gulped her glass of milk hastily, took her portion
of biscuits, and, avoiding conversation, hurried down the garden to the
seclusion of a stone arbor. Here she tore open the envelope, and drew
forth a large sheet of exercise paper. On it was printed in bold black
letters:
"You are elected a member of the Sorority of Camellia Buds. Please
present yourself for initiation to-night at 8.10 prompt in No. 13.
Strictest secrecy enjoined."
There was no signature, but Irene gave a smile of comprehension.
Dormitory No. 13 was shared by Peachy Proctor, Jess Cameron, Delia
Watts, and Mary Fergusson. There was, therefore, little doubt but that
she was to be received into the secret society of whose existence she
had already gathered some hints.
"I'll be there at 8.10," she whispered to Peachy, as they trooped into
the French class.
"Right-o!" replied that light-hearted damsel. "Just one warning--don't
be scared at anything that happens; it's all in fun! Don't say I told
you, though. No, I can't explain. I'm not allowed. You'll soon find
out."
Peachy shook off Irene's company as if in a hurry to get rid of her
before she asked any more questions, so there was nothing to be done but
wait in patience until the evening. Supper was at 7.30, and from 8 till
half past the girls did as they chose. Those who wished to study might
take the extra time for preparation, but work was not obligatory, and it
was an understood thing that in the interval between supper and "set
recreation" visits might be paid to other dormitories, and that so long
as no noise reached the ears of the prefects, anybody disposed to be
frivolous might indulge in a little harmless fun.
Irene's wrist-watch was not a reliable timepiece, having bad habits of
galloping and then suddenly losing, so to-night she did not trust to it,
but sat in the hall with her eyes on the big white-faced clock. At
exactly nine and a half minutes past eight she ran upstairs and tapped
at the door of dormitory 13. There were sounds of scuffling inside and
an agitated voice squealed:
"Wait a minute."
But after a few moments quiet reigned and somebody else called:
"Come in!"
Feeling rather as if she were awaiting initiation into some Nihilist
association Irene entered the room. As she did so a bandage was clapped
over her eyes and she was led forward blindfolded. It was only after an
impressive pause that the handkerchief was removed.
It was well she had been warned beforehand, or the sight which met her
gaze might have caused her to emit a yell loud enough to attract the
attention of a passing prefect. The Villa Camellia was admirably
supplied with electric light, but on this historic occasion the
apartment was illuminated solely by a couple of candle-ends stuck in a
pair of vases. Their flickering flame revealed a solemn row of nine
dressing-gowned figures, each of which wore a black paper mask with
holes for her eyes. The general effect was most startling and horrible,
and resembled a meeting of the Inquisition, or some other society bent
on torture and dark doings. Repressing her first gasp, however, Irene
bore the vision with remarkable equanimity, and advancing towards the
dread figures waited obediently until she was addressed. Evidently she
had done the right thing, for the spokeswoman, clearing her throat,
began in impressive accents:
"Sister Irene Beverley, you are admitted here to-night to be made a
member of our Sorority. Are you willing to join and to take the
pledges?"
"Yes, thanks, but please what's a sorority?" ventured Irene meekly.
Two or three distinct snickers were heard from underneath the black
masks, but a voice murmured, "Order!" and the sounds promptly ceased.
"A sorority is a secret sisterhood," explained the President, "just the
same as a fraternity is a brotherhood. We call ourselves 'The Camellia
Buds,' and we're members of the Transition who have banded ourselves
together for the purposes of mutual protection. It's a great honor to be
elected. There are only nine of us so far, and we've waited ever so long
to choose a tenth. I hope you appreciate the privilege?"
"I do indeed!"
"You're ready to take the vow? Then the initiation may proceed.
Sword-bearers, guard the door, please."
There was a Masonic quality about the proceedings. Two dark figures,
armed with rulers, placed themselves at the threshold, prepared to
settle all intruders, and to preserve the absolute secrecy of the
ceremony.
"Will you give your word of honor to be a loyal member of the Sorority
of Camellia Buds, and never to do a dirty trick so long as you remain at
this school?" asked the President.
"I promise!" replied Irene.
At that somebody switched on the electric light, and the members,
pulling off their black masks, disclosed their laughing faces.
"You stood it A-1. I was quite prepared for you to start hysterics and
had the sal volatile bottle ready right here," chirruped Delia gayly.
"We call it our 'strength of mind' test," explained President Agnes,
blowing out the guttering candles.
"If I _had_ screamed what would have happened?" inquired Irene.
"Probation for another week till you got your nerves. We'd a business
with Sheila just at first; she's rather fluttersome. Well, anyway,
you've got through the ordeal, and now you're a full-fledged 'bud.'
Aren't you proud?"
"Rather! Is the society limited to ten?"
"Sorority, please, not society. It's limited because there isn't anybody
else in the Transition who's worth asking to join. Most of them are a
set of utter sneaks. They may take Rachel's oath about preserving their
nationality and all the rest of it, but if they're to be counted
specimens of Anglo-American honor it makes one blush for one's mother
country whichever side of the ocean it happens to be on. Oh, you don't
know most of them yet! Wait till you find them out."
"You'll be glad then you belong to us."
"Not that we're perfect, of course."
"We don't set up as Pharisees."
"On the whole we're rather a lot of lunatics."
"We just have a little sport among ourselves to keep things humming."
"Well, now Irene understands, we'd best get her fixed up with a 'buddy'
and close the meeting."
"But I _don't_ understand. What, for goodness' sake, is a buddy, and why
must I have one?" demanded Irene tragically.
"Sit down there, child, and let Grannie talk to you," replied President
Agnes. "If you haven't heard of a buddy yet it's time you did. They're
the latest out. They had them at all the camps last summer, in England
as well as in America. A buddy is a chum with whom you're pledged to do
everything, and who's bound to support you. For instance, when the
bathing season is on you must never swim unless your buddy is swimming
with you; if you go on an excursion you stick to each other tight as
glue, and if one of you is lost the other is held responsible. You're as
inseparable as a box and its lid, or the two blades of a pair of
scissors, or a bottle and its cork, or any other things you happen to
think of that ought to go together, and aren't any use apart."
"We only realized buddies last term," explained Peachy, "but the idea
caught on no end. We all went simply crazy over it. I don't mind
guessing that every girl in this school who's worth her salt has got her
buddy. She mayn't let it be known outside her own sorority, but we
aren't blind."
"Are there other sororities in the school then besides the Camellia
Buds?" asked Irene.
"Bless your innocence! I should think there are. There's a rival one in
the Transition. I rather fancy they've snapped up Mabel already. I gave
Winnie a hint she wasn't to tackle _you_, because you'd come to school
with an introduction to _me_, so I ought to have first innings. The
prefects have a sorority all to themselves, and the seniors have one,
and as for the juniors, silly little things, they're as transparent as
glass, with their signaling and their grips and their cypher letters.
Any one can see through them with half an eye. But we're wasting time.
We've got to fix you up with a buddy, and we must be quick before the
bell rings."
"May we choose?" asked Irene, and her eyes fell longingly on Peachy.
"No, we mayn't!" said President Agnes firmly. "We have to take what the
fates send us. It's Kismet. Every time we elect a new member we draw
lots again for buddies. It's a kind of general shuffle. If we're an
uneven number somebody of course has to be odd man out."
"I was the 'old maid' last draw, and I haven't had a buddy this term,"
remarked Sheila plaintively.
"Never mind, ducky! You're bound to find a partner now," consoled Delia.
"It might even be my little self, so live in hope."
"No such luck," groaned Sheila. "I'll probably get Joan, and you know
she always uses me as a door-mat."
Agnes meantime was writing ten names on ten separate pieces of paper and
folding them in identically the same fashion. Peachy offered the loan of
a hat, and into this treasury they were cast and shuffled.
"The newest member draws," murmured Agnes, and the others pushed Irene
forward. She chose two folds of paper at a venture, and twisted them
together, then performed the like service for another pair, until all
the ten were assorted. The thrill of the ceremony was when Agnes opened
the screws of paper and read out the names. Fate had mixed the Camellia
Buds together thus:
Peachy Proctor--Sheila Yonge.
Jess Cameron--Delia Watts.
Joan Lucas--Esther Cartmel.
Agnes Dalton--Mary Fergusson.
Lorna Carson--Irene Beverley.
Whether the members of the secret sorority felt satisfied or otherwise
with the result of the shuffle, etiquette forbade them to show anything
but polite enthusiasm. Each took her buddy solemnly by the hand and
vowed allegiance. Peachy then produced what she called "the loving cup,"
a three-handled vase of brown pottery brought by Jess from Edinburgh and
with the motto "Mak' yersel' at hame," on it in cream-colored letters.
It was usually a receptacle for flowers, but it had been hastily washed
for the occasion and filled with lemonade, a rather bitter brew
concocted by Peachy and Delia from a half-ripe lemon plucked in the
garden and a few lumps of sugar saved from tea. This was passed round,
and the Camellia Buds gulped it heroically as a pledge of sisterhood.
"The password is _Thistle-down_," decreed Agnes, as the members, trying
not to pull sour faces, consoled themselves with candy and broke up the
meeting. "Any one who can think of a stunt for next time please bring
along propositions. We're always open to new ideas and ready for a
startler."
As a direct result of her admission to this select sorority Irene found
herself flung by Fate into the arms of Lorna Carson. Had any individual
choice been allowed she would have selected Peachy, Jess, Delia, or even
Sheila in preference, but the lot once cast she must abide by it and be
content. She had a very shrewd suspicion that when the buddies got tired
of each other they elected a fresh member and so necessitated a general
reshuffle of partners, and that her admission to the society had been
welcomed as the pretext for such a change. Here she was, however,
pledged to intimate friendship with Lorna, a girl who half fascinated
and half repelled her, and who, though she might possibly turn out
trumps in the future, was for the present at least most difficult to
understand.