TALKING OVER THE MYSTERY.
Annie Forest, sitting in the midst of a group of eager admirers, was
chatting volubly. Never had she been in higher spirits, never had her
pretty face looked more bright and daring.
Cecil Temple coming into the play-room, started when she saw her. Annie,
however, instantly rose from the low hassock on which she had perched
herself and, running up to Cecil, put her hand through her arm.
"We are all discussing the mystery, darling," she said; "we have
discussed it, and literally torn it to shreds, and yet never got at the
kernel. We have guessed and guessed what your motive can be in concealing
the truth from Mrs. Willis, and we all unanimously vote that you are a
dear old martyr, and that you have some admirable reason for keeping back
the truth. You cannot think what an excitement we are in--even Susy
Drummond has stayed awake to listen to our chatter. Now, Cecil, do come
and sit here in this most inviting little arm-chair, and tell us what our
dear head-mistress said to you in the chapel. It did seem so awful to
send you to the chapel, poor dear Cecil."
Cecil stood perfectly still and quiet while Annie was pouring out her
torrent of eager words; her eyes, indeed, did not quite meet her
companion's, but she allowed Annie to retain her clasp of her arm, and
she evidently listened with attention to her words. Now, however, when
Miss Forest tried to draw her into the midst of the eager and animated
group who sat round the play-room fire, she hesitated and looked
longingly in the direction of her peaceful little drawing-room. Her
hesitation, however, was but momentary. Quite silently she walked with
Annie down the large play-room and entered the group of girls.
"Here's your throne, Queen Cecil," said Annie, trying to push her into
the little arm-chair; but Cecil would not seat herself.
"How nice that you have come, Cecil!" said Mary Pierce, a second-class
girl. "I really think--we all think--that you were very brave to stand
out against Mrs. Willis as you did. Of course we are devoured with
curiosity to know what it means; arn't we, Flo?"
"Yes, we're in agonies," answered Flo Dunstan, another second-class girl.
"You will tell exactly what Mrs. Willis said, darling heroine?" proceeded
Annie in her most dulcet tones. "You concealed your knowledge, didn't
you? you were very firm, weren't you? dear, brave love!"
"For my part, I think Cecil Temple the soul of brave firmness," here
interrupted Susan Drummond. "I fancy she's as hard and firm in herself
when she wants to conceal a thing as that rocky sweetmeat which always
hurts our teeth to get through. Yes, I do fancy that."
"Oh, Susy, what a horrid metaphor!" here interrupted several girls.
One, however, of the eager group of schoolgirls had not opened her lips
or said a word; that girl was Hester Thornton. She had been drawn into
the circle by an intense curiosity; but she had made no comment with
regard to Cecil's conduct. If she knew anything of the mystery she had
thrown no light on it. She had simply sat motionless, with watchful and
alert eyes and silent tongue. Now, for the first time, she spoke.
"I think, if you will allow her, that Cecil has got something to say,"
she remarked.
Cecil glanced down at her with a very brief look of gratitude.
"Thank you, Hester," she said. "I won't keep you a moment, girls. I
cannot offer to throw any light on the mystery which makes us all so
miserable to-day; but I think it right to undeceive you with regard to
myself. I have not concealed what I know from Mrs. Willis. She is in
possession of all the facts, and what I found in my desk this morning is
now in her keeping. She has made me see that in concealing my knowledge I
was acting wrongly, and whatever pain has come to me in the matter, she
now knows all."
When Cecil had finished her sad little speech she walked straight out of
the group of girls, and, without glancing at one of them, went across the
play-room to her own compartment. She had failed to observe a quick and
startled glance from Susan Drummond's sleepy blue eyes, nor had she heard
her mutter--half to her companions, half to herself:
"Cecil is not like the rocky sweetmeat; I was mistaken in her."
Neither had Cecil seen the flash of almost triumph in Hester's eyes, nor
the defiant glance she threw at Miss Forest. Annie stood with her hands
clasped, and a little frown of perplexity between her brows, for a
moment; then she ran fearlessly down the play-room, and said in a low
voice at the other side of Cecil's curtains:
"May I come in?"
Cecil said "Yes," and Annie, entering the pretty little drawing-room,
flung her arms round Miss Temple's neck.
"Cecil," she exclaimed impulsively, "you're in great trouble. I am a
giddy, reckless thing, I know, but I don't laugh at people when they are
in real trouble. Won't you tell me all about it, Cecil?"
"I will, Annie. Sit down there and I will tell you everything. I think
you have a right to know, and I am glad you have come to me. I thought
perhaps--but no matter. Annie, can't you guess what I am going to say?"
"No, I'm sure I can't," said Annie. "I saw for a moment or two to-day
that some of those absurd girls suspected me of being the author of all
this mischief. Now, you know, Cecil, I love a bit of fun beyond words. If
there's any going on I feel nearly mad until I am in it; but what was
done to-day was not at all in accordance with my ideas of fun. To tear up
Miss Russell's essay and fill her desk with stupid plum-cake and Turkish
delight seems to me but a sorry kind of jest. Now, if I had been guilty
of that sort of thing, I'd have managed something far cleverer than that.
If _I_ had tampered with Dora Russell's desk, I'd have done the thing in
style. The dear, sweet, dignified creature should have shrieked in real
terror. You don't know, perhaps, Cecil, that our admirable Dora is no end
of a coward. I wonder what she would have said if I had put a little nest
of field-mice in her desk! I saw that the poor thing suspected me, as she
gave way to her usual little sneer about the 'under-bred girl;' but, of
course, _you_ know me, Cecil. Why, my dear Cecil, what is the matter? How
white you are, and you are actually crying! What is it, Cecil? what is
it, Cecil, darling?"
Cecil dried her eyes quickly.
"You know my pet copy of Mrs. Browning's poems, don't you, Annie?"
"Oh, yes, of course. You lent it to me one day. Don't you remember how
you made me cry over that picture of little Alice, the over-worked
factory girl? What about the book, Cecil?"
"I found the book in my desk," said Cecil, in a steady tone, and now
fixing her eyes on Annie, who knelt by her side--"I found the book in my
desk, although I never keep it there; for it is quite against the rules
to keep our recreation books in our school-desks, and you know, Annie, I
always think it is so much easier to keep these little rules. They are
matters of duty and conscience, after all. I found my copy of Mrs.
Browning in my desk this morning with the cover torn off, and with a very
painful and ludicrous caricature of our dear Mrs. Willis sketched on the
title-page."
"What?" said Annie. "No, no; impossible!"
"You know nothing about it, do you, Annie?"
"I never put it there, if that's what you mean," said Annie. But her face
had undergone a curious change. Her light and easy and laughing manner
had altered. When Cecil mentioned the caricature she flushed a vivid
crimson. Her flush had quickly died away, leaving her olive-tinted face
paler than its wont.
"I see," she said, after a long pause, "you, too, suspected me, Cecil,
and that is why you tried to conceal the thing. You know that I am the
only girl in the school who can draw caricatures, but did you suppose
that I would show _her_ dishonor? Of course things look ugly for me, if
this is what you found in your book; but I did not think that _you_ would
suspect me, Cecil."
"I will believe you, Annie," said Cecil, eagerly. "I long beyond words to
believe you. With all your faults, no one has ever yet found you out in a
lie. If you look at me, Annie, and tell me honestly that you know nothing
whatever about that caricature, I will believe you. Yes, I will believe
you fully, and I will go with you to Mrs. Willis and tell her that,
whoever did the wrong, you are innocent in this matter. Say you know
nothing about it, dear, dear Annie, and take a load off my heart."
"I never put the caricature into your book, Cecil."
"And you know nothing about it?"
"I cannot say that; I never--never put it in your book."
"Oh, Annie," exclaimed poor Cecil, "you are trying to deceive me. Why
won't you be brave? Oh, Annie, I never thought you would stoop to a lie."
"I'm telling no lie," answered Annie with sudden passion. "I do know
something about the caricature, but I never put it into that book. There!
you doubt me, you have ceased to believe me, and I won't waste any more
words on the matter."