indignation that, for the moment, swept her. Why should she care if
a girl who had been persistently rude to her was snubbed and
humiliated? It was a difficult question to answer, because the
demands of friendship, as of love, are independent of argument and
common sense. If Sally craved for Trina's affection, Violet knew in
her heart that she would have liked the chance of winning Sally's.
"I suppose one can't help likes and dislikes," she told herself at
last, "and if Trina wasn't here, I might make something of her."
CHAPTER THE NINTH
A BROAD HINT
Sally Brendan had spent so much time and care over her imitation of
Peter's handwriting that she was a day late in finishing her own
lines.
"I couldn't manage to get them done quicker," she muttered sullenly
as, giving them in, she was met by an angry glance instead of the
curt acknowledgment she felt they at least deserved.
"Why on earth not? Because you didn't choose, you lazy little beast,
I suppose? And the writing is hardly legible, as it is."
Sally shifted from one foot to the other, her hands clenched. She
hated and despised Poppy Bristow, and it was a great effort to submit
to her bullying words in silence. The elder girl, on the other hand,
found, for the first time, a little relief for her wounded vanity in
being able to abuse someone else in safety. Lashed by the tongues of
fellow-prefects, she had not dared to accuse or condemn the real
culprit, and had suffered in secret, till now, like a flood released,
her indignation poured itself out over the unpopular new girl, who
had helped Trina Morrison to humiliate her before the Juniors.
"It's a perfect disgrace, the way the rules are broken nowadays at
Seascape House," she concluded her harangue; "and I, at any rate,
don't intend that prefects' orders shall be disregarded in future. I
said if you didn't get those lines done by Wednesday, I would have to
report you to Miss Cockran, and Heaven knows that I have a good mind
to do it. It would serve you right."
Sally had borne a great deal, more than she had ever stood from those
in authority before; but now her patience gave way, and she laughed
aloud mockingly.
"Then I suppose it would serve Peter right as well? ... Miss Cockran
will find out about Peter coming in late, if I am sent to her. You
can bet your money on that: and I don't know if that will please
you--it will make Peter mad all right."
Poppy flushed a deep purple. "What do you mean?" she demanded.
"What does it matter to me how mad Trina Morrison may get?"
Sally smiled slightly, as if that answered the question, before she
added: "Well, do you want me to go to Miss Cockran?"
The prefect gripped her by the shoulders, and Sally thought she would
have shaken her or struck her; but with a great effort she partly
preserved her self-control.
"You--you impudent little b-beast," she stammered; "I don't know what
you mean--b-but I won't be t-talked to like this. You will do me
another 300 lines by the end of the week. 'Ev-v-angeline' ... they
are long ones. See?"
"Yes," said Sally sullenly, "all right."
It had suddenly occurred to her that, after all, she herself did not
wish to go to Miss Cockran and betray Peter; and that Poppy Bristow,
if goaded too far, might send her there without calculating the cost.
The only thing was to give in, with as good a grace as possible; but
again, as many times since she had come to Seascape House, the new
girl wished she had held her tongue, and not been such a fool as to
burden herself with more "lines" and a new enemy. She guessed that
the wound she had given to Poppy Bristow's pride would not be
forgiven easily.
"Not that I care, of course," she muttered, as she pulled down a copy
of Longfellow from the library shelf, and carried it to her desk.
The worst of it was, she did care. As she sat scribbling wearily,
she could see Trina Morrison walking in the garden below, arm in arm
with Mabel Gosson and Cathy Manners. They looked so utterly
care-free that, for the moment, Sally was tempted to tip her inkpot
over them, out of the open window, as they strolled below.
"It would serve them right, selfish cads," she said; but did not act
on the impulse, as she would have done a few months ago at home. She
was beginning to learn that her second thoughts were sometimes best.
The lines were finished by tea-time on Saturday, and Poppy received
them with a grudging: "Is that 300? It doesn't look more than two."
"Three hundred--yes. It was what you wanted, wasn't it?" asked Sally
politely.
The prefect gave a grunt--whether of disgust, or assent, it was
difficult to say. It was obvious that she would have liked to return
the lines for correction; but the younger girl, foreseeing this, had
taken pains to make them both tidy and clear.
"If they are all right, I suppose I can go?" she said at last; and as
the other turned her back without answering, made off across the
quadrangle after Trina Morrison, whom she saw in the distance.
"I have just had to do 300 more lines, for cheeking Poppy, you know."
There was slight importance in her tone, and Trina Morrison's
eyebrows lifted.
"Was it worth it?"
"Hardly, I suppose; but she is such an ass that I couldn't resist
pulling her leg."
"My dear child, if you start cheeking every ass in the school you
will have your work cut out."
"Oh, well--I shan't do it any more--not till next time."
They had reached the gymnasium by now, and conversation showed signs
of languishing. Sally looked hurriedly round to see that they were
alone, then caught her friend's arm.
"Peter," she said, "look here. I ... I didn't mean to boast that
other evening. It was just, I had taken such a lot of trouble to hit
off your handwriting exactly; and it's not an easy job, really,
truly, it isn't."
The other laughed.
"Why, kid, of course it isn't. I believe forgers must take a special
university course in handwriting, and I was uncommonly grateful--all
that sort of thing. It was just, I couldn't resist ragging you--I
always rag my friends--but you are such a tinder-box. Mabel Gosson,
now, is like an indiarubber ball--in, when you poke, and out
again--none the worse."
Sally's eyes glowed. So Peter did number her amongst her friends.
Nothing else mattered, at the minute.
"I didn't mind a bit really, from you," she said valiantly. "It was
the others standing round and laughing I couldn't bear. It made me
mad angry."
"Turkey-Cock-sure. Isn't that what Doris Forbes calls you? It is
quite smart of her, considering she is one of the worst asses this
house boasts."
Sally secretly liked Doris, and began, rather half-heartedly, to
object to this sweeping criticism.
"Why, she is awfully good at cricket, you know."
"And so are you, aren't you? You have often told me so, and
sometimes street boys are; and lunatic asylums, I believe, produce
quite creditable elevens." The younger girl flushed. "I daresay
cricket for girls is all very well, just while one is at school.
Personally, I like tennis much better, don't you? It often makes a
good excuse for parties."
This was so novel an idea that Sally opened her eyes wide.
"I don't understand you sometimes. Why, tea-parties are awful
rot--sitting about in best clothes, I mean."
"Oh, yes, in best school-clothes, of course."
This was equally baffling; but while Trina stood laughing, without
attempting to explain her meaning, Mabel Gosson appeared.
"I want to talk to you, Peter," she said, and glared coldly at Sally.
"All right. Come to our Form sitting-room. So long, kid. Don't get
any more lines, or you will have a red nose from leaning over the
ink-pot."
"But you will let us have a talk again some time soon? I have just
heaps to say to you."
"Yes, of course."
There was a hint of impatience in Peter's tone, and Sally dared not
keep her longer, but wandered off, rather forlornly, to the cricket
ground. They were just picking up sides for the Eagles when she
arrived, but though she walked up and down close to the pitch, Doris
Forbes took no notice of her; and when the sides were finally chosen,
she was forced to go away.
"Try shrimping!" jeered one of those to whom she had once offered
unsought advice; and as she turned her back, pretending that she did
not hear, she came face to face with Violet Tremson.
"Hullo!" said Violet quickly. "Doing anything now?"
"No."
"Well, you said you would practise me at the nets one evening."
Sally hesitated. Last time they had spoken had been in the sea, and
she herself had been violently rude.
"Do you want to play, really?" she mumbled, somewhat suspicious that
there was a trap set to catch her, and make a fool of her, though she
could not quite detect it at the moment.
"Rather. I seem to be stuck in the Wolves and Bears for life, and
batting is quite my worst show. Doris Forbes says my style is simply
awful; but then I have no brothers to coach me, you see."
"It was my Uncle Frank who taught me at the beginning. He used to
play for Yorkshire."
Sally's face brightened as she spoke, and by the time they reached
the nets they were both discussing the averages of their favourite
champions. Then they fell to work, and it was with regret that they
heard the school bell ring, and went to pick up their coats.
"You will do quite well if you hit out a bit more," said Sally. "I
am too rash, and you are too careful. You rather poke at balls, you
know."
"Well, if I try to slog, the ball always gets me middle stump and
that damps my courage--especially when someone calls out: 'How could
you be so careless? Who do you think you are? W. G. Grace, or Plum
Warner?'"
The other laughed.
"A short life and a merry one is my motto, and like the old miller,
'I don't care for nobody'--nor what 'nobody says to me.'"
They had reached the school-house by now, and passed Trina Morrison
standing in the hall. Sally waved to her, and she stared at them
with a faint smile, but did not speak.
"Isn't Peter frightfully clever?" said the younger girl; "and such a
sport--not afraid of anyone. I think she's the bravest person I ever
met."
"Do you?"
At her dry tone, Sally turned in surprise. It was so unlike Violet
Tremson's usual cheerful kindliness.
They were at the foot of the stairs that led to the upper floor,
where conversation was forbidden, and both of them stopped
involuntarily, facing each other.
"Of course she is brave. Do you mean you don't agree?"
Violet Tremson hesitated: then said very slowly:
"I don't care for Trina Morrison. I used to, you know--as you do. I
admired her very much, but ... well, later, I couldn't help seeing
that she wasn't what I thought."
"You mean, you think I will change about her?"
"Yes--I hope you will. She is rather a rotter."
It was out now; and Violet accepted silently, though her face
flushed, the indignant denial that she had expected. Any explanation
of her point of view, or Sally's, was, however, cut short by the
appearance of Miss Castle, who demanded why they were waiting about
when the dressing bell had rung.
"You will be late for supper unless you hurry. Be off now, the pair
of you."
They fled to their rooms; and while Sally changed, she meditated on
Violet Tremson's verdict, deciding that she felt as she did because
she was naturally "a slow old thing." Probably Peter hadn't bothered
to know her, and she was hurt; though it was true that it didn't seem
easy to hurt or annoy her. Sally suddenly remembered the scene in
the water, and wished she had apologised for her rudeness. She had
meant to do so, put it off, and then forgotten it. Now the
opportunity was past.
"Anyhow, I'll make up for it by being really decent to her now," she
said. "She can't help being a cousin of Mrs. Musgrave, and she has
been jolly decent to me."
CHAPTER THE TENTH
THE BREACH WIDENS
It was nearing the end of the summer term, and continued measles at
Seascape House had put an end to all hopes of a cricket season that
included the outside world. In consequence, "Games" enthusiasm
burned with so low a flame that Doris Forbes, for all her patriotic
efforts, was quite unable to arouse any interest in matches between
English _v._ Celts, Oxford _v._ Cambridge, or Lancastrians _v._
Yorkists. The matches were played--because, after all, something
must be done to pass the time on Saturdays--but not even the yawning
teams cared who won, or lost.
Sally Brendan cared least of anyone in the school, for Doris Forbes
had continued to ignore her existence where the Eagles were
concerned, and had not Violet Tremson drawn her into the struggle of
Wolves and Bears, she might have been reduced once more to shrimping.
"I had rather do anything than play with those horrible little beasts
again," she said to Peter one Saturday afternoon, as they lay on a
rug under the oak trees; and her companion smiled lazily.
"Rather be expelled?"
"Much. I wouldn't mind being expelled from this place, as I said
before. Would you?"
"I may be reduced to it for a new experience. This leper sort of
isolation is getting on my nerves."
"Well, you are luckier than I am, for you can play tennis almost any
evening--and you quite like that."
It was, indeed, the one game that Trina Morrison treated with any
kind of toleration; and when she chose to exert herself, she had a
good eye and a steady wrist that made her quite an average player.
Thanks to her friends amongst the seniors, who controlled the use of
the courts, she could count on a set almost any evening; and what
made Sally marvel was the little joy or interest she took in such
opportunities.
This afternoon, for instance, just because she knew Miss Rogers had
gone away for a week-end, and could not therefore force them to take
some exercise, she had refused to join in an American tournament,
preferring to recline instead under the trees with a novel.
Sally was surprised but pleased, because it meant that she could go
and sit with her, while she waited for her innings as a Wolf, in a
not very exciting tussle with the languid Bears.
Violet Tremson, also a Wolf, was batting at the moment, playing
steadily and carefully, but with more "dash" than earlier in the
season, and the younger girl watched her with approval.
"She's a lot better since I took her in hand, isn't she?" Sally said
at last.
"Who?"
"Why, Violet Tremson. We have been practising at the net, and now
she stands up to my bowling quite well. Some day she will be in one
of the elevens."
Peter yawned. She was reading a letter that lay between the pages of
her book, and did not look up.
Sally pulled her suddenly by the arm.
"Peter, do leave that letter for a minute, and pay attention--I want
to know something. What do you really think of Violet Tremson?"
"I never think of her at all."
"Yes, but if you did? I want to know badly, please."
"Well, then, I would probably think her a good little girl--almost
too good to be true."
At the obvious sneer the younger girl's look of curiosity deepened.
"That means you dislike her; and she doesn't like you either--and yet
I like you both. Isn't that odd?"
"Well, which do you care for most?"
The tone was lazy, but there was a gleam of interest in the
half-closed eyes. Trina was not quite as indifferent to admiration
as she often seemed.
"Oh, Peter. Can you ask? You, of course. You were my first friend
here. Violet is a good sort, but when I'm with her I feel as if I
was drinking just ordinary water, while you are like something that's
exciting, and fizzes--ginger ale, perhaps."
"Say champagne--it's not so cheap."
"But I don't like champagne. Uncle Frank used to give it to me when
I lived with him, and it's all dry--and burns."
"You don't know but that I may turn out like that. I'm not at all a
good friend for you, kid."
"Rot!"
Sally looked so indignant that the other laughed.
"Well, your dear Violet told me so--in fact she asked me to leave you
alone."
"What?"
"Oh, I endured quite a sermon on the subject of corrupting the young,
I assure you. She told me I wasn't being fair to a child like you,
and seemed to think I was dragging you into mischief."
"You didn't drag me. Why, it was I who suggested going to Parchester
that afternoon--and anyhow, it is none of her business."
"She seemed to think so. I suppose the poor thing has the missionary
spirit, and can't help herself. She sees you going to the dogs, for
instance, and must start off with a chain to drag you back."
Again there was the sneer, but this time Sally was too angry to
notice it. Her cheeks were hot with humiliation at the idea of being
"taken up" for her good by Violet, and "saved."
"I call it the most frightful cheek I ever heard," she said at last.
"On the contrary, it is painstaking and unselfish with such a
thornbush as you are. In time, she may turn you into a respectable
member of the school, with high ideals of duty--like Doris Forbes."
"I don't want to be respectable, or done good to." Sally's eyes were
flashing now. She sprang to her feet, and dug viciously at the
ground with her bat, to relieve her feelings.
"You ought to have told me before," she said. "When you saw us
beginning to make pals. You know I wouldn't stand her jawing at you
about me, as if she were my godmother--or someone odious and
interfering like that.... I ... just won't stand it. It's beastly
cheek."
"It may have been cheek, my child, but she was probably right. I
don't know that I mean to stay here much longer."
"Peter, tell me, are you planning anything risky?"
Sally had seen her glance again at her letter, as she spoke, and had
a sudden intuition that some new adventure was on foot.
Trina Morrison smiled.
"Almost as clever as Sherlock Holmes, and too clever for Seascape
House. Well, what if I am?"
"I want to come too ... I must."
"I daresay; but I shan't take you, all the same. Violet may be a
sanctimonious prig, but she's right about you and me. You are too
young for more adventures at present."
The elder girl lay back and watched the other with teasing eyes as
she spoke--only shaking her head at the furious protestations her
announcement aroused.
In the midst of them Violet Tremson appeared, tranquil as usual.
"I made twenty-three," she said, "and then fell to a catch--a neat
little donkey-drop sort, of beast--straight into Hilda Collet's
hands. I came to say you are next in, after Maisie."
Sally said nothing; then, as the other waited, answered gruffly,
turning her back: "All right--but I'm talking to Peter now."
Violet flushed, and her eyes as they met Trina Morrison's showed a
little flame of anger.
"Don't go," said Trina sweetly. "We were just discussing you. I was
just telling Sally that I thought you had gone out of your way to
take a lot of trouble about her, and that she wasn't nearly grateful
enough."
"What do you mean, Trina?"
"She means," broke in Sally furiously, "that you have been trying to
patronise me, and do me good. I suppose that old toad, Mrs.
Musgrave, put it on your conscience before I came."
"She didn't, Sally. Don't be an ass."
"Well, anyway, you tried to break off my friendship with Peter, and
that was none of your business."
Violet Tremson pushed the younger girl aside, and stood looking down
at the elder with contempt and indignation in her eyes.
"So you have been telling her what I said, have you?"
"Certainly. Since you preached to me before the whole Lower Fifth, I
imagine it wasn't meant to be private."
"How dared you talk about me before all those cads?" Sally was
trembling with rage; and Violet, it was evident, was having some
trouble to keep down her own temper.
"Be quiet, Sally," she said; "you don't understand."
"But I do--and I don't want ever to be patronised by you again, thank
you--I'll choose my own friends."
Trina Morrison, who had risen lazily to her feet, laughed.
"Turkey-Cock-sure, aren't you? You may be proud of her friendship
some day," she said mockingly. "One never knows. Anyhow, stop
gobbling, do, and go and bat. Maisie has just been bowled, and the
whole field seems yelling for you."
"I don't care--they can burst if they like. I want Violet to
understand what I feel."
"I think she does. You look wrathful enough to register displeasure
and scorn in a cinema film. Anyhow, do go and bat, and I'll settle
your final account with our mutual friend here."
Sally looked from one to the other, and with a great effort moved
away towards the pitch.
"Don't imagine I want ever to make it up again," she called over her
shoulder, and again Trina Morrison laughed; but her eyes were no
longer amused, only shallow and hard.
"Well?" she asked, briefly.
Violet's hands were clenching and unclenching round the handle of her
bat.
"I'm not clever enough to answer you," she said at last, in a low
voice; "but you know what I think of you, and what a dirty game you
have just played--poisoning Sally's mind. One day you will be
expelled, and----"
"Probably, and the school saints will sing anthems of joy over one
sinner cast into outer darkness."
"It will be for the good of the school--yes."
"And for the good of your darling Sally too, eh? We were talking
about her, I think?"
Violet moved a little closer. "What I am afraid of is--that she may
be expelled too. She is not the first child you have done your best
to ruin, by dragging her into rows. If you do, just remember this, I
shall go to Miss Cockran and tell her how much is your fault, and not
Sally's. She would run straight if you let her alone."
"You will turn sneak, in fact--is that it? My dear girl, you will
make yourself popular."
"I know--I hate sneaks; but sometimes things have to be stopped, and
Doris Forbes' brain works so slowly that she doesn't see them."
"Well, it will be amusing to hear how Old Cocaine welcomes you. I
don't fancy it will be with approval. Not even a prefect, are you?"
Trina laughed as she spoke, and picked up her hat.
"Tut, tut. What a fuss, and all about a little whippersnapper in the
Remove. I'm quite exhausted. Do get out of my way. Oh, bother!
There's the child herself coming; she must have been bowled at once."
Violet did not stir. "I'm not just fussing, Trina," she said, "I
mean it. Leave Sally alone, or I shall spoil your game."
They looked straight into one another's eyes, and then Violet turned
and walked off, without a glance at the younger girl, who, bat in
hand, had come rushing up to join them.
"What have you both been saying? Tell me, Peter.... I sent a catch
at once, when I saw you were still talking."
Trina Morrison shrugged. There was a smile round her mouth, but it
lacked its usual charm; and her eyes were hard, under brows drawn
together in a frown.
"Let us forget your missionary," she said petulantly, at last. "She
goes nearer to making me lose my temper than anyone else in this
place. Dull as water, you call her--I say, as 'ditchwater.'"
"Then give me--some champagne."
Sally looked significantly at the letter crumpled up in the elder
girl's hand; and Trina, following her glance, hesitated perceptibly.
"Well, why not?" she said. "Since Violet has dared me and it's your
risk, remember--my adventure, at least, was planned for myself alone."
"Oh, Peter, do tell me quick."
They were moving towards the house now, and Trina Morrison's frown
had cleared away.
"It's from Austin--the letter--" she said. "He and the others want
to meet me at Parchester Fair next Wednesday."
"How scrumptious! I love a Fair. But what time? They will spot we
are up to something at once, if we don't go to prep., won't they?"
"Silly! this is an evening affair, when good little school-girls are
in their beds. Why, anything of that sort is no fun in the day.
Besides, there is to be a dance.... I forgot that... you are rather
young for a dance. It's with some friends of Austin, in Parchester."
"I can either dance or look on," said Sally calmly. "You promised
you'd take me, Peter. I won't be a nuisance."
"I believe it would be best, if you didn't go--all the same,"
muttered the other. "I should be leaving here in two terms, anyhow,
you see; but it's different for you."
It was difficult to tell from her expression whether a belated attack
of conscience or a fear that the younger girl might indeed be in the
way was troubling her most.
Sally slipped her arm through Trina's ingratiatingly. "Don't worry
about my being expelled," she said; "I don't want to stay here when
you are gone."
In the excitement of the moment, she believed this true, and, touched
by the passion of affection in her voice, Peter slipped her arm round
her.
"Nice kid," she said; "but you know it is a mistake to put all your
eggs in one basket. I never do."