HIGH LIFE AND LOW LIFE.
Amongst the many girls who attended the Great Shirley School was one who
was known by the name of Cassandra Weldon. She was rapidly approaching
the proud position of head girl in the school. She had entered the
Shirley School when quite a little child, had gone steadily up through
the different classes and the various removes, until she found herself
nearly at the head of the sixth form. She was about to try for a
sixty-pound scholarship, renewable for three years; if she got it she
would go to Holloway College, and eventually support herself and her
mother. Mrs. Weldon was the widow of a man who in his time had a very
successful school for boys, and she herself had been a teacher long ago
in the Great Shirley School. Cassandra and her mother, therefore, were
from the very first surrounded by scholarship; they belonged, so to
speak, to the scholastic world.
Mrs. Weldon could scarcely talk of anything else. Evening after evening
she would question her daughter eagerly with regard to this
accomplishment and the other, to this change or that, to this chance
which Cassandra might have and to the other. The girl was extremely
clever, with a sort of all-round talent which was most remarkable; for
in addition to many excellent accomplishments, she was distinctly
musical. Her musical talent very nearly amounted to genius. If in the
future she could not play in public, she resolved at least to earn her
living as a music teacher. Mrs. Weldon hoped that Cassandra would do
more than this; and, to tell the truth, the girl shared her mother's
dreams. Besides music, she had worked very hard at botany, at French and
German, and at English literature. She would be seventeen on her next
birthday, and it was against the rules for any girl to remain at the
Great Shirley School after that time. Cassandra had, however, two more
terms of school-life before her, and these terms she regarded as the
most valuable of her whole education.
In appearance Cassandra was a tall, well-made girl, graceful in her
movements, and very self-possessed in manner. Her face was full of
intelligence, but was rather plain than otherwise, for her mouth was too
wide and her nose the reverse of classical. She had bright intelligent
brown eyes, however, a nice voice, and a pleasant way. Cassandra was
looked up to by all her fellow-students, and this not because she was
rich, nor because she was beautiful, but simply because she was good and
honorable and trustworthy; she possessed a large amount of sympathy for
nearly every one, her tact was unfailing, and she was never
self-assertive.
Now Cassandra, who had many friends in the school, had amongst them, of
course, her greatest friend. This girl was called Florence Archer.
Florence was pretty and clever, but she had neither Cassandra's depth
nor power of intellect. She was naturally vain and frivolous, except in
the presence of her dearest friend. She was easily influenced by others,
and it was her habit to follow the one who gave her the last advice. Her
passionate love for Cassandra was perhaps her best and strongest
quality; but of late she had exhibited a sense of almost unwarrantable
jealousy when any other girl showed a preference for her special friend.
Florence was a very nice girl, but jealousy was her bane. She thought a
good deal of herself, for her father was a rich man, and only took
advantage of the Great Shirley education because it was incomparably the
best in the place. There was no rule against any one attending the
school, and he had long ago secured a niche in it for his favorite
daughter. Florence loved it and hated it at the same time. She was fond
of her own companions, but she could not bear the foundation girls.
These girls made a large percentage in the school. In all respects they
were supposed to be Florence's equals, but as a matter of fact they were
kept in a very subordinate position by the paying girls. On every
possible occasion they were avoided, and there must be something very
special about any one of them if she was taken up by the aristocrats--as
they termed themselves--of the school.
But Cassandra as a rule was perfectly sweet and pleasant to the
foundation girls, and this trait in her friend's character annoyed
Florence more than anything else.
On the morning after Ruth Craven had been admitted to the school
Cassandra was one of the first arrivals. She was standing in the wide
courtyard waiting for the school doors to be opened. She looked, as
usual, bright and capable. A stream of girls were surrounding her, each
smiling and trying to draw her attention. Cassandra was a girl of few
words, and after nodding to her companions, she gave them to understand
that she did not intend to enter into any special conversation. Her neat
satchel of school-books was slung on her arm. She wore a very dark-blue
serge dress, and her white sailor-hat looked correct and pretty on her
shining brown hair. Cassandra, with her face beaming as the sun, made a
sort of figure-head for the smaller girls. Presently three foundation
girls entered the gates side by side and glanced up at her. This trio
formed perhaps the most objectionable set in the school. One was called
Kate Rourke; she was a girl of fifteen years of age, showily dressed,
with flashing eyes, long earrings in her ears, false jewellery round her
neck, and a smart, rather shabby hat, trimmed with a lot of flowers,
placed at the back of her head. Hanging on Kate's arm might have been
seen Hannah Johnson, in all respects that young lady's double. Clara
Sawyer, a fair-haired little girl about fourteen, with a heavy fringe
right down to her eyebrows, completed the trio.
They glanced at Cassandra, and then nodded to one another and joked and
laughed.
"I have no doubt," said Kate, "that Cassie will take her up."
She said the word "Cassie" in a loud voice. Cassandra heard her, but she
took not the slightest notice.
"She is safe to," continued Kate. "Now, such a girl oughtn't to be on
the foundation at all. If you only knew the snubbing she gave me
yesterday. I quite hate her, with all her pretty face and her mincing
ways."
"Never mind, Kitty," said Hannah Johnson. "She may snub you as much as
she likes, but you have got me to cling on to."
"And you've got me, too, Kitty," said Clara Sawyer. She snuggled close
up to Kate and slipped her hand through her arm.
"Nasty thing!" said Hannah. "I feel every word you say, Kate. Do you
know, I offered to walk home with her yesterday, and she said, 'No, I
thank you; I prefer to walk home alone,'"
As Hannah made this speech she adopted the mincing tones which she
supposed Ruth Craven had used. The two other girls burst out laughing.
"Oh, do say what you are laughing about!" said another girl, running up
to the group at this moment. Her name was Rosy Myers. "You always have a
joke among you three, and I want to share it. Do say--do say! I've got a
lot of toffee in my pocket."
"Hand it out, Rosy, and perhaps we'll tell you," said Kate.
Rose produced a packet of sticky sweetmeat, and a moment later the four
were sucking peppermint toffee and making themselves thoroughly
objectionable to their neighbors.
"But what about the girl--the person you are laughing about?" asked
Rose.
"Oh, it's that stupid, tiresome Ruth Craven," answered Hannah. "Why,
she's nobody. The governors and the mistress ought not to allow such a
girl in the school. It's all very well to be on the foundation, but
there are limits. Why, her old grandfather kept nothing better than a
huckster's shop. It doesn't seem right that a girl of that sort should
belong to this school, and then take airs."
"But the question is," said Cassandra suddenly, "does she take airs?"
The girls all stopped talking, and gazed up at Cassandra with
astonishment in their faces.
"I have overheard you," said Miss Weldon calmly. "I presume you are
alluding to Miss Craven?"
"We are talking about Ruth Craven," said Kate Rourke; "and you will
excuse me, Cassie, but I never saw a girl more chock-full of pride. She
is so conceited that she is intolerable."
"I heard of her yesterday, but have not had an opportunity to form any
estimate of her character," continued Cassandra. "I should prefer that
you did not call me Cassie, if you please, Kate. I will watch her and
find out if I agree with you. I only noticed yesterday that she is
remarkably pretty. I will ask her to walk home with me to-day and have
tea. I should like to introduce her to mother."
"Well, I never!" said Hannah. "And you really mean that you would
introduce that girl to Mrs. Weldon?"
"I think so. Yes, I am almost certain. Here she comes. I like her face.
Don't let her hear you giggling, please, Kate; it is very unkind to make
a new girl feel uncomfortable."
Kate smothered a laugh and turned away. The doors of the school were now
thrown open, and the girls disappeared by their special entrances.
It was just at that moment that Ruth in her shabby dress, but with her
sweet and most beautiful face, joined the group of girls who were going
into the school. She was without a companion. The other girls went in
by twos, each clinging to her special crony. Cassandra now changed her
position, and found herself within a yard or two of Ruth Craven. She was
examining Ruth with great care, but not at all from the unkind point of
view; hers was a sympathetic aspect. That little old serge dress made
something come up in Cassandra's throat, and she longed beyond words to
give her a better dress. Ruth's hat, too, left much to be desired. It
was an old black sailor-hat, which had been burnt to a dull brown. But,
notwithstanding the hat and the dress, there was the face. The face was
most lovely, and the back of the shabby frock was covered by hair as
black as jet, and curling and rippling in the sunshine.
"What wouldn't every other girl in the school give to have such a face
as that, and such hair as that?" thought Cassandra. "I must speak to
her."
She was just bending forward, meaning to touch Ruth on her shoulder,
when there came a commotion near the entrance, and the excited face of
Alice Tennant came into view. Alice was accompanied by a tall, showily
dressed girl. The girl had a very vivid color in her cheeks, intensely
bright and roguish dark-blue eyes, light chestnut hair touched with
gold--hair which was a mass of waves and tendrils and fluffiness, and on
which a little dark-blue velvet cap was placed.
"I am not going to be shy," cried the new-comer in a hearty, clear, loud
voice with a considerable amount of brogue in it. "Leave off clutching
me by the arm, Alice, my honey, for see my new companions I will. Ah,
what a crowd of girls!--colleens we call them in Ireland. Oh, glory! how
am I ever to get the names of half of them round my tongue? Ah, and
isn't that one a beauty?"
"Hush, Kathleen--do hush!" said Alice. "They will hear you."
"And what do I care if they do, darling? It doesn't matter to me. I mean
to talk to that girl; she's won my heart entirely."
Before Alice could prevent her, the Irish girl had sprung forward,
pushed a couple of Great Shirley girls out of their places, and had
taken Ruth Craven by the arm.
"It's a kiss I'm going to give you, my beauty," she said. "Oh, it's
right glad I am to see you! My name is Kathleen O'Hara, and I hail from
the ould country. Ah, though! it's lonely I'm likely to be, isn't it,
deary? You don't deny me the pleasure of your society when I tell you
that in all this vast crowd I stand solitary--solitary but for her; and,
bedad! I'm not certain that I take to her at all. Let me tuck my hand
inside your arm, sweetest."
A titter was heard from the surrounding girls. Ruth turned very red,
then she looked into Kathleen's eyes.
"You mean kindly," she said, "but perhaps you had better not. You, too,
are a stranger."
"Are you a stranger?" asked Kathleen. "Then that clinches the matter.
Ah, yes; it's lonely I am. I have come from my dear mountain home to be
civilised; but civilisation will never suit Kathleen O'Hara. She isn't
meant to have it. She's meant to dance on the tops of the mountains, and
to gather flowers in the bogs. She's made to dance and joke and laugh,
and to have a gay time. Ah! my people at home made a fine mistake when
they sent me to be civilised. But I like you, honey. I like the shape of
your face, and the way you are made, and the wonderful look in your eyes
when you glance round at me. It is you and me will be the finest of
friends, sha'n't we?"
Before Ruth could reply the girls had entered the great hall, which
presently became quite full.
"Don't let go of me, darling, for the life of you. It's lost I'd be in a
place of this sort. Let me clutch on to you until they put me into the
lowest place in the school."
"But why so?" asked Ruth, glancing at her tall companion in some
astonishment. "Don't you know anything?"
"I? Never a bit, darling. I don't suppose they'll keep me here. I have
no learning, and I never want to have any, and what's more--"
"Hush, girls! No talking," called the indignant voice of a form-room
mistress.
Kathleen's dark-blue eyes grew round with laughter. She suddenly dropped
a curtsy.
"Mum's the word, ma'am," she said, and then she glanced round at her
numerous companions.
The girls had all been watching her. Their faces broke into smiles, the
smiles became titters, and the titters roars. The mistress had again to
come forward and ask what was wrong.
"It's only me, miss," said Kathleen, "so don't blame any of the other
innocent lambs. I'm fresh from old Ireland. Oh, miss, it's a beautiful
country! Were you never there? If you could only behold her purple
mountains, and let yourself go on the bosom of her rushing streams! Were
you ever in the old country, miss, if I might venture to ask a civil
question?"
"No," said Miss Atherton in a very suppressing tone. "I don't understand
impertinent questions, and I expect the schoolgirls to be orderly.--Ah,
Ruth Craven! Will you take this young lady under your wing?"
"Didn't I say we were to be mates, dear?" said Kathleen O'Hara; and as
they passed from the great hall, Kathleen's hand was still fondly linked
on Ruth's arm.