RUTH RESIGNS THE PREMIERSHIP.
The next morning Kathleen O'Hara was downstairs betimes. She ran into
the kitchen and suggested to Maria that she should help her to toast the
bread. Maria, who was somewhat lazy, and who had already begun to
appreciate Kathleen's extreme good-nature, handed her the toasting-fork
and pointed to a heap of bread which lay cut and ready for toasting on
the deal table in the center of the kitchen.
"Dear me, Miss Kathleen!" she said; "if only Miss Alice was as
good-natured as you, why, the house would go on wheels."
"I often helped the servants at home," said Kathleen. "Why isn't Alice
good-natured?"
"She's made contrairy, I expect, miss."
"Cut on the cross, I call it," said cook, who came forward at this
juncture and offered a chair to Kathleen.
"Well, if that's the case I'm sorry for her," said Kathleen. "It must be
very unpleasant to feel sort of peppery-and-salty and cross-grained all
the time."
"It isn't what you ever feel, miss," said cook with an admiring glance
at the young lady.
Kathleen fixed her deep-blue roguish eyes on the good woman's face.
"No," she said, "I don't think I am cross-grained. By the way, cook,
wouldn't you like a black silk apron embroidered with violets to wear
when you have done all your dirty work in the kitchen?"
"Cooks don't wear black silk aprons embroidered with violets," was the
good woman's answer.
"But this cook might, if a nice Irish girl, who has plenty of money,
gave it to her. I have it in the bottom of my trunk. I asked Aunt Katie
O'Flynn to send it to me for your mistress, but your mistress doesn't
care for it. I will give it to you, cook.--And, Maria, I've got a little
toque for you. It is sky-blue with forget-me-nots. Have you a young man,
Maria? Most girls have, haven't they? Wouldn't you like to walk out with
him in a sky-blue toque trimmed with forget-me-nots?"
"It puts me all in a flutter to think of it, miss," said Maria. "I am
sure a sweeter young lady never came into this house."
Kathleen chatted on to the retainers, as she called cook and Maria,
until she had toasted enough bread. She then went into the dining-room.
Alice was there, looking pale and headachy. The day was a very cold one,
and the fire was by no means bright. Kathleen's intensely rosy
cheeks--for the fire had considerably scorched them--attracted Alice's
attention.
"I do wish you wouldn't do servant's work," she said. "You annoy me
terribly by the way you go on."
"Oh, don't be annoyed, darling," said Kathleen softly. "Just regard me
as a necessary evil. You see, Alice, however cross you are, I'd have the
others all on my side. There's your mother and David and Ben and the two
servants. It isn't worth while, Alice. If they all like me, why
shouldn't you?"
Alice made no reply. Kathleen stood still for a moment; then she
glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past eight. She must be out of
the house in a little over a quarter of an hour if she was to meet Ruth
Craven at the White Cross Corner. She sat down to the table, helped
herself to a piece of toast, and spread some butter on it.
"A cup of tea, please, Alice," she said.--"Oh, what letters are those?
Any for me? David, if you give me a letter I'll--I'll love you ever so
much. Ah, two! Dave, you are a treasure; you are a darling; you are
everything that is exquisite."
It was Alice's place to pour out the tea. She poured some out now, very
unwillingly, for Kathleen, who drew the cup towards her, stirred it
absently, and began to read her letters. Presently she uttered a little
shriek.
"It is from Aunt Katie O'Flynn, and she is crossing the Channel, the
darling colleenoge. She is coming to London, and she wants me to see
her. Oh, golloptious! What fun I shall have! Boys, aren't you delighted?
It was Aunt Katie O'Flynn who sent me that wonderful trunk of clothes.
Won't she give us a time now? I declare I scarcely know whether I'm on
my head or my heels.--Alice, you'd best make yourself agreeable and join
in the fun, for I can assure you it's theaters and concerts and teas and
dinners and--oh! shopping, and every conceivable thing that can delight
the heart of man or woman, boy or girl, that will be our portion while
Aunt Katie--the duck, the darling, the treasure!--is in London. Let me
see; what hotel is she going to? Oh, the Métropole. Where is the
Métropole?"
"In Northumberland Avenue. But, of course, we are not going up to
London," said Alice. "We are only schoolgirls. We are at school and must
mind our lessons. I am trying for my scholarship, and I mean to get it.
And I don't suppose, even if your aunt is coming at a most inopportune
time, that she is going to upset everything."
"That remains to be proved," said Kathleen. "I am not going to have Aunt
Katie so close to me without having my bit of fun. Oh, dear, dear! look
at the time. I must be off."
"Why are you going so early? It is only half-past eight."
"I have business, darling--a friend to meet. Have you any objection?"
Kathleen did not wait for Alice's answer. She dashed upstairs, and on
the first landing she met Mrs. Tennant, who had been suffering from
headache, and was in consequence a little late for breakfast.
"Mrs. Tennant," shouted Kathleen, "I have the top of the morning as far
as news is concerned. It is herself that is crossing the briny. She'll
be in London to-night. Oh, did you ever hear of anything quite so
scrumptious? But what's the matter, dear?"
"Kathleen, I wish you wouldn't wear that really good dress going to
school."
"Is it my old lavender, and my old satin blouse?" said Kathleen, looking
down at herself with a momentary glance. "Ah, then, my dear tired one,
it isn't dresses I'll be thinking of when Aunt Katie is in London.
She'll get me more than I can wear. She'll fig you all out, every one of
you, if you like--you and Alice and David and Ben and cook and Maria.
Maria is keeping company, she tells me, and would like a few fine
clothes--naturally, the creature! Well, Mrs. Tennant, it's herself that
is crossing, as I said; even now she is in the big steamer, coming
nearer and nearer to England. Shan't we have fun when she arrives?"
"You haven't told me who it is yet, dear."
"Oh, darling, you haven't been listening. It is the dear woman who sent
me the box full of new clothes--Aunt Katie O'Flynn, at your service. But
there! I must be off. I'll think of it all day, and it will make me so
happy."
Kathleen dashed away to her own room, put on her outdoor things, and a
moment or two later was running as fast as she could in the direction of
the White Cross Corner. There she saw a silent, grave-looking girl, very
quietly dressed, standing waiting for her.
"Here I am," said Kathleen; "and here you stand, Ruth. And now, what
have you got to say for yourself?"
"I am sorry," said Ruth. "I thought when you sent Susy to me with your
message that I might as well come here this morning; but I haven't
changed my mind--not a bit of it."
Kathleen's eyes, always extraordinarily dark for blue eyes, now grew
almost black. A flash of real anger shot through them.
"Don't you think it is rather mean," she said, "to give me up when you
promised to belong to me--to give me up altogether and to go with those
dreadful, proud paying girls?"
"It isn't that," said Ruth, "and you know it. It is just this: I can't
belong to two sides. Cassandra Weldon offers me an advantage which I
dare not throw away. It is most essential to me to win the sixty-pounds
scholarship. If I win it I shall be properly educated. When I leave
school I'll be able to take the position my dear father, had he lived,
would have wished for me. I shall be able to support granny and
grandfather. You see for yourself, Kathleen, that I can't refuse it. It
isn't a question of choice; it is a question of necessity. I love you.
Kathleen--I will always love you and be faithful to you--but I can't
give up the scholarship."
"I don't want you to," said Kathleen; "but why shouldn't you belong to
me and yet take the scholarship? I don't want you to be with me all the
time. You can go to that horrible, detestable girl when it is necessary,
and have your odious coach to post you up. But I want you more than
anybody else. Don't you know how I love you? Can't you do both? Think it
over, Ruth."
"I have thought it over, and I can't do it. I would if I could, but it
isn't to be done. It wouldn't be right to you, nor right to Cassandra."
"Well, I think you are very mean; I think I hate you."
Kathleen turned aside. She was impulsive, high-spirited, and defiant,
but where her passions were concerned her heart was very soft. She burst
into tears now and flung her arms around Ruth's neck.
"I like a lot of people," she said--"I like Mrs. Tennant, and even Susy,
although she's not up to much, and two or three other girls--but I only
_love_ you. In the whole of England I only love you, and you are going
to give me up."
"No; I will still be your friend."
"But you have refused to join my society; you have refused to belong to
the Wild Irish Girls."
"I can't help myself."
"But you promised."
"I know I did. I made a mistake. Kathleen, there is no help for it. I
shall love you even if I don't belong to the society. Now there is
nothing more to be said."
Ruth disentangled herself from Kathleen's embrace, and putting wings to
her feet, ran in the direction of the school. Kathleen stood just where
she had left her; over her face was passing a rapid and curious change.
"Do I love her any longer?" she said to herself. "Oh, I think--I think I
love her still. But she has slighted me. She will be sorry some day. Oh,
dear! The only girl in the whole of England that I love has slighted me.
She has thrown ridicule upon me. She said that she would be my Prime
Minister, and she has resigned everything for that horrible Cassandra.
She will be sorry yet; I know she will."