Meanwhile Sylvia was thoroughly enjoying herself. She started for the
Castle in the highest spirits. Her walk during the morning hours had not
fatigued her; and when, soon after twelve o'clock, she walked slowly and
thoughtfully up the avenue, a happier, prettier girl could scarcely be
seen. The good food she had enjoyed since Jasper had appeared on the
scene had already begun to tell. Her cheeks were plump, her eyes bright;
her somewhat pale complexion was creamy in tint and thoroughly healthy.
Her dress, too, effected wonders. Sylvia would look well in a cotton
frock; she would look well as a milkmaid, as a cottage girl; but she
also had that indescribable grace which would enable her to fill a
loftier station. And now, in her rich furs and dark-brown costume, she
looked fit to move in any society. She held Evelyn's letter in her hand.
Her one fear was that Evelyn would remark on her own costume
transmogrified for Sylvia's benefit.
"Well, if she does, I don't much care," thought the happy girl. "After
all, truth is best. Why should I deceive? I deceived when I was here
last, when I wore Audrey's dress. I had not the courage then that I have
now. Somehow to-day I feel happy and not afraid of anything."
She was met, just before she reached the front entrance, by Audrey and
Evelyn.
"Here, Evelyn," she cried--"here is a note for you."
Evelyn took it quickly. She did not want Audrey to know that Jasper was
living at The Priory. She turned aside and read her note, and Audrey
devoted herself to Sylvia. Audrey had liked Sylvia before; she liked her
better than ever now. She was far too polite to glance at her improved
dress; that somehow seemed to tell her that happier circumstances had
dawned for Sylvia, and a sense of rejoicing visited her.
"I am so very glad you have come!" she said. "Evelyn and I have been
planning how we are to spend the day. We want to give you, and ourselves
also, a right good time. Do you know that Evelyn and I are schoolgirls
now? Is it not strange? Dear Miss Sinclair has left us. We miss her
terribly; but I think we shall like school-life--eh, Eve?"
Evelyn had finished Jasper's letter, and had thrust it into her pocket.
"I hate school-life!" she said emphatically.
"Oh Eve! but why?" asked Audrey. "I thought you were making a great many
friends at school."
"Wherever I go I shall make friends," replied Evelyn in a careless tone.
"That, of course, is due to my position. But I do not know, after all,"
she continued, "that I like fair-weather friends. Mothery used to tell
me that I must be careful when with them. She said they would, one and
all, expect me to do something for them. Now, I hate people who want you
to do things for them. For my part, I shall soon let my so-called
friends know that I am not that sort of girl."
"Let us walk about now," said Audrey. "It will be lunch-time before
long; afterwards I thought we might go for a ride. Can you ride,
Sylvia?"
"I used to ride once," she answered, coloring high with pleasure.
"I can lend you a habit; and we have a very nice horse--quite quiet, and
at the same time spirited."
"I am not afraid of any horses," answered the girl. "I should like a
ride immensely."
"We will have lunch, then a ride, then a good cozy chat together by the
schoolroom fire, then dinner; and then, what do you say to a dance? We
have asked some young friends to come to the Castle to-night for the
purpose."
"I must not be too late in going home," said Sylvia. "And," she added,
"I have not brought a dress for the evening."
"Oh, we must manage that," said Audrey. "What a good thing that you and
I are the same height! Now, shall we walk round the shrubbery?"
"The shrubbery always reminds me," said Sylvia, "of the first day we
met."
"Yes. I was very angry with you that day," said Audrey, with a laugh.
"You must know that I always hated that old custom of throwing the
Castle open to every one on New Year's Day."
"But I am too glad of it," said Sylvia. "It made me know you, and Evelyn
too."
"Don't forget, Audrey," said Evelyn at that moment, "that Sylvia is
really my friend. It was I who first brought her to the Castle.--You do
not forget that, do you, Sylvia?"
"No," said Sylvia, smiling. "And I like you both awfully. But do tell me
about your school--do, please."
"Well," said Audrey, "there is a rather exciting thing to tell--something
unpleasant, too. Perhaps you ought not to know."
"Please--please tell me. I am quite dying to hear about it."
Audrey then described the mysterious damage done to Sesame and Lilies.
"Miss Henderson was told," she said, "and yesterday morning she spoke to
the entire school. She is going to punish the person who did it very
severely if she can find her; and if that person does not confess, I
believe the whole school is to be put more or less into Coventry."
"But how does she know that any of the girls did it?" was Sylvia's
answer. "There are servants in the house. Has she questioned them?"
"She has; but it so happens that the servants are quite placed above
suspicion, for the book was whole at a certain hour the very first day
we came to school, and that evening it was found in its mutilated
condition. During all those hours it happened to be in the Fourth Form
schoolroom."
"Yes," said Evelyn in a careless tone. "It is quite horrid for me, you
know, for I am a Fourth Form girl. I ought not to be. I ought to be in
the Sixth Form with Audrey. But there! those unpleasant mistresses have
no penetration."
"But why should you wish to be in a higher form than your acquirements
warrant?" replied Sylvia. "Oh," she added, with enthusiasm, "don't I
envy you both your luck! Should I not love to be at school in order to
work hard!"
"By the way, Sylvia," said Audrey suddenly, "how have you been
educated?"
"Why, anyhow," said the girl. "I have taught myself mostly. But please
do not ask me any questions. I don't want to think of my own life at all
to-day; I am so very happy at being with you two."
Audrey immediately turned the conversation; but soon, by a sort of
instinct, it crept back again to the curious occurrence which had taken
place at Miss Henderson's school.
"Please do not speak of it at lunch," said Audrey, "for we have not told
mother or father anything about it. We hope that this disgraceful thing
will not be made public, but that the culprit will confess."
"Much chance of that!" said Evelyn; and she nudged Sylvia's arm, on
which she happened to be leaning.
The girls presently went into the house. Lunch followed. Lady Frances
was extremely kind to Sylvia--in fact, she made a pet of her. She looked
with admiration at the pretty and suitable costume, and wondered in her
own heart what she could do for the little girl.
"I like her," she said to herself. "She suits me better than any girl I
have ever met except my own dear Audrey. Oh, how I wish she were the
heiress instead of Evelyn!"
Evelyn was fairly well behaved; she had learnt to suppress herself. She
was now outwardly dutiful to Lady Frances, and was, without any seeming
in the matter, affectionate to her uncle. The Squire was always
specially kind to Evelyn; but he liked young girls, and took notice of
Sylvia also, trying to draw her out. He spoke to her about her father.
He told her that he had once known a distinguished man of the name, and
wondered if it could be the same. Sylvia colored painfully, and showed
by many signs that the conversation distressed her.
"It cannot be the same, of course," said the Squire lightly, "for my
friend Robert Leeson was a man who was likely to rise to the very top of
his profession. He was a barrister of extreme eminence. I shall never
forget the brilliant way he spoke in a _cause célèbre_ which occupied
public attention not long ago. He won the case for his clients, and
covered himself with well-earned glory."
Sylvia's eyes sparkled; then they grew dim with unshed tears. She
lowered her eyes and looked on her plate. Lady Frances nodded softly to
herself.
"The same--doubtless the same," she said to herself. "A most
distinguished man. How terribly sad! I must inquire into this; Edward
has unexpectedly given me the clue."
The girls went for a ride after lunch, and the rest of the delightful
day passed swiftly. Sylvia counted the hours. Whenever she looked at the
clock her face grew a little sadder. Half-hour after half-hour of the
precious time was going by. When should she have such a grand treat
again? At last it was time to go up-stairs to dress for dinner.
"Now, you must come to my room, Sylvia," said Evelyn. "Yes, I insist,"
she added, "for I was in reality your first friend."
Sylvia was quite willing to comply. She soon found herself in Evelyn's
extremely pretty blue-and-silver room. How comfortable it looked--how
luxurious, how sweet, how refreshing to the eyes! The cleanliness and
perfect order of the room, the brightness of the fire, the calm, proper
look of Read as she stood by waiting to dress Evelyn for dinner, all
impressed Sylvia.
"I like this life," she said suddenly. "Perhaps it is bad for me even to
see it, but I like it; I confess as much."
"Perhaps, Miss Leeson," said Read just then in a very courteous voice,
"you will not object to Miss Audrey lending you the same dress you wore
the last time you were here? It has been nicely made up, and looks very
fresh and new."
As Read spoke she pointed to the lovely Indian muslin robe which lay
across Evelyn's bed.
"Please, Read," said Evelyn suddenly, "don't stay to help me to dress
to-night; Sylvia will do that. I want to have a chat with her; I have a
lot to say."
"I will certainly help Evelyn if I can," replied Sylvia.
"Very well, miss," replied Read. "To tell you the truth, I shall be
rather relieved; my mistress requires a fresh tucker to be put into the
dress she means to wear this evening, and I have not quite finished it.
Then you will excuse me, young ladies. If you want anything, will you
have the goodness to ring?"
The next moment Read had departed.
"Now, that is right," said Evelyn. "Now we shall have a cozy time; there
is nearly an hour before we need go down-stairs. How do you like my
room, Sylvia?"
"Very much indeed. I see the second bed has gone."
"Oh yes. I do not mind a scrap sleeping alone now; in fact, I rather
prefer it. Sylvia, I want so badly to confide in you!"
"To confide in me! How? Why?"
"I want to ask you about Jasper. Oh yes, she wants to see me. I can
manage to slip out about nine o'clock on Tuesday next; we are not to
dine down-stairs on Tuesday night, for there is a big dinner party. She
can come to meet me then; I shall be standing by the stile in the
shrubbery."
"But surely Lady Frances will not like you to be out so late!"
"As if I minded her! Sylvia, for goodness' sake don't tell me that you
are growing goody-goody."
"No; I never was that," replied Sylvia. "I don't think I could be; it is
not in me, I am afraid."
"I hope not; I don't think Jasper would encourage that sort of thing.
Yes, I have a lot to tell her, and you may say from me that I don't care
for school."
"Oh, I am so sorry! It is incomprehensible to me, for I should think
that you would love it."
"For some reasons I might have endured it; but then, you see, there is
that awkward thing about the Ruskin book."
"The Ruskin book!" said Sylvia. She turned white, and her heart began to
beat. "Surely--surely, Evelyn, you have had nothing to do with the
tearing out of the first pages of _Sesame and Lilies_!"
"You won't tell--you promise you won't tell?" said Evelyn, nodding her
head, and her eyes looking very bright.
"Oh! I don't know. This is dreadful; please relieve my anxiety."
"You will not tell; you dare not!" said Evelyn, with passion. "If you
did I would tell about Jasper--I would. Oh! I would not leave a stone
unturned to make your life miserable. There, Sylvia, forgive me; I did
not mean to scold. I like you so much, dear Sylvia; and I am so glad you
have Jasper with you, and it suits me to perfection. But I did tear the
leaves out of the book; yes, I did, and I am glad I did; and you must
never, never tell."
"But, Eve--oh, Eve! why did you do such a dreadful thing?"
"I did it in a fit of temper, to spite that horrid Miss Thompson; I hate
her so! She was so intolerably cheeky; she made me stay in during
recreation on the very first day, and she accused me of telling lies,
and when she had left the room I saw the odious book lying on the table.
I had seen her reading it before, and I thought it was her book; and
almost before I had time to think, the pages were out and torn up and in
the fire. If I had known it was Miss Henderson's book, of course, I
should not have done it. But I did not know. I meant to punish horrid
old Thompson, and it seems I have succeeded better than I expected."
"But, Eve--Eve, the whole school is suspected now. What are you going to
do?"
"Do!" replied Evelyn. "Nothing."
"But you have been asked, have you not, whether you knew anything about
the injury to the book?"
"I have, and I told a nice little whopper--a nice pretty little whopper--a
dear, charming little whopper--and I mean to stick to it."
"Eve!"
"You look shocked. Well, cheer up; it has not been your fault. I must
confide in some one, so I have told you, and you may tell Jasper if you
like. Dear old Jasper! she will applaud me for my spirit. Oh dear! do
you know, Sylvia, I think you are rather a tiresome girl. I thought you
too would have admired the plucky way I have acted."
"How can I admire deceit and lies?" replied Sylvia in a low tone.
"You dare say those words to me!"
"Yes, I dare. Oh, you have made me unhappy! Oh, you have destroyed my
day! Oh Eve, Eve, why did you do it?"
"You won't tell on me, please, Sylvia? You have promised that, have you
not?"
"Oh, why should I tell? It is not my place. But why did you do it?"
"If you will not tell, nothing matters. I have done it, and it is not
your affair."
"Yes, it is, now that you have confided in me. Oh, you have made me
unhappy!"
"You are a goose! But you may tell dear Jasper; and tell her too that
her little Eve will wait for her at the turnstile on Tuesday night at
nine o'clock. Now then, let's get ready or we shall be late for dinner."