CONSECRATED.
SIX weeks after the events mentioned in the last chapter, Kate O'Connor
had very nearly recovered her normal state of health. She was still at
St. Dorothy's, but the doctor had forbidden all return to work until
after Christmas. Christmas was drawing near now, and the girls were
talking a good deal about it. Matilda Matthews had been an inmate of
St. Dorothy's for three or four weeks. The boycotting idea had been
quite abandoned. Molly was the one who put a stop to that; she had been
consistently kind to Matilda from the first. Matilda had shrunk from
Molly, and was rather surprised when the young girl came to meet her on
the evening of her arrival, talked to her pleasantly, and did her best
to make her feel at home and at ease. Matilda was given a very nice
room to herself, and Molly suggested to her that she should invite some
girl who was going in for the same branch of study to share it with her
in the evenings.
"Such a step will make you popular," said Molly; "besides being a kind
thing to do."
"I don't care a straw about being kind," answered Matilda frankly,
"although I should naturally like to be popular. I did not know you
were the good-natured sort you seem to be, Molly Lavender. I thought
you'd hate and detest me after the shabby way I treated you; but as you
are inclined to be agreeable, I am quite willing to meet you halfway.
I may as well tell you now that I never took particularly to you, but
I was much impressed by Cecil Ross, and if she were not quite the
shabbiest girl in the world, I should wish to be her chum. Well, say
now, why should not you and I be chums--chums for life, I mean. You
don't want to share my room, but I can do all kinds of odd things for
you. I can be awfully good-natured to girls who _really_ cotton to me;
and when you go to London---- You live in London, don't you?"
"Yes; with my grandmother," answered Molly.
"Oh, I expect you have a horribly dull time! My father has a house in
Portman Square. You shall come and drive with me in the carriage; and
oh, say, wouldn't it be prime if I coaxed father to give a ball at
Christmas, and I invited you to it?"
"I am not out yet," answered Molly, "so I do not think grandmother
would allow me to go."
"Well, I mean a children's ball; you are not too old to enjoy it, are
you?"
"I am fifteen--not at all too old; but I don't think grannie will wish
me to leave her in the evenings."
"Your people are very rich, aren't they?"
"I believe they are; but what does that matter?"
"What does that matter!" echoed Matilda, with a curl of her lips.
"Dear, dear! I think you must have taken leaves out of Kate O'Connor's
book. By the way, they say--stoop down and I'll whisper to you--that
that young lady will be obliged to stoop to charity, after all; that
sainted grandfather of hers did not leave her much money, and her
illness has swallowed up a considerable portion of what was reserved
for her educational expenses here."
"Surely that is not our affair."
Molly turned scarlet as she spoke; she had to place the most violent
control upon herself to remain another moment by Matilda's side.
"I do want to be good to you," she said. "I am sure we all at St.
Dorothy's want to be good to you, Matilda,--at least, I think we all
do,--but oh, please, if you wish to have a nice time here, you must
give up that sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?" asked Matilda.
"You must not repeat what you think other people have said; you must
try hard not to make mischief. As to Kate, I will not listen to a word
against her; in fact, I won't talk about her to you at all."
"Oh, hoity toity!" said Matilda, tossing her head.
Molly soon afterward left her.
"How am I to be kind to such an awful girl?" she whispered to her own
heart, but then she remembered her vow to God. She was trying with all
her might to keep it, but nothing seemed quite right.
* * * * *
It was within a week of the end of the term, when, one morning, Molly
received a letter from her grandmother. It ran as follows:
MY DEAR MOLLY:
You will be wondering what I intend you to do during
the Christmas vacation which is now so close at hand,
and you will doubtless be preparing for your usual time
with me. Well, my dear child, I am sorry to disappoint
you. I know, darling, that you love me very much, and
it is a great pleasure to me to have you; but, after
careful consideration, I have made up my mind that I
must not have that pleasure this Christmas. It would
be very selfish of me to have you in the house, Molly,
for I could do little or nothing to give you pleasure
while you were with me. My health, my dear child, is
not what it was; I suffer terribly from insomnia, and
can stand none of that noise and racket in which the
young delight. In short, it would be very wrong to mope
you up with an old woman, Molly. My faithful servant,
Pearson, attends to all my wants; my doctor visits me
daily. I have a full measure of that peace and calm,
that quiet and rest, which are now my sole ideas of
earthly happiness. You must not, therefore, fret about
me, dear, for I am as well as an old woman of over
eighty can be. This letter is to tell you, dear Molly,
that you are not to spend Christmas with me. Have you
any idea what you would like to do with yourself? Your
letters from St. Dorothy's interest me very much. I
delight in reading about your life, dear, for I can
do so without in the least exciting myself. I always
thought highly of Cecil Ross, and what you say about
the Irish girl, Kate O'Connor gives me much pleasure.
I told you all about my little scheme, Molly, for
endowing girls who are ladies, and really want a good
start in life. From certain things you tell me, it is
possible that I may be able to assist Kate materially
in the future. I can say nothing about that at present,
but I wish you clearly to understand that I take an
interest in her. I hope she will quite recover from
her serious accident. What an escape she had of her
life, poor child! what an awful operation she must have
gone through! My dear Molly, what do you think of the
following idea? Suppose you and Kate arrange to spend
your Christmas with Cecil. Cecil will, of course, want
to join her brothers, and you might all keep house
together for a month. You can talk this over with
Cecil, and let me know. Please understand that, in any
arrangement of this kind, I consider myself responsible
for the expenses. Why not go to the seaside? Some
people enjoy the sea at Christmas. A complete change
of that sort will do you all good, and a lot of young
things together can knock up a good deal of fun--at
least, I used to find that the case in those days in
the dim past when I was young. Let me know what you
settle, my darling, and believe me,
Your affectionate grandmother,
MARY LAVENDER.
Molly read this letter with a quickly beating heart and flushed cheeks;
she plunged it into her pocket, and danced rather than walked down to
breakfast. Kate O'Connor had no home to go to, and Miss Forester had
asked her to remain on at Redgarth if no better offer turned up. Kate
had not yet recovered her usual color, nor were her eyes so bright as
of old, she was gentle and affectionate to everyone, but a good deal
of her high spirit had deserted her.
When Molly had an opportunity she spoke to Kate about the old trouble,
but Kate's illness had made all that time seem rather dim to her, and
although she was now very fond of Molly, something of the old _verve_
had left her friendship.
"But it will be all right, more than right, when I get her away to the
seaside," thought Molly to herself. "Oh, what a splendid idea it is!"
"Molly, what are you thinking about?" asked Cecil, as Molly ate her
bread and butter and smiled to herself.
"You might as well give us a share of your happy thoughts," said
Hester. "You can't possibly know how comical you look, eating and
smiling and nodding, and never letting out a word."
"I have had such a jolly letter," answered Molly.
"From whom? Do tell us!"
"From grannie, of course."
"Oh, you are going to her for Christmas, are you not?"
"Well, no; I am not," answered Molly. "I can't talk about my letter
now. Cecil and Kate, shall we meet and have a little consultation after
dinner to-day?"
"It is a half-holiday, so of course we can," replied Cecil.
"And am I not to be in the conference?" interrupted Hester.
"No, I'm afraid you are not, but we'll tell you all about it
afterward," said Molly.
She did not add another word, but, having finished her breakfast, left
the room abruptly.
"Where are you going to spend your Christmas, Kate?" asked Hester.
"Here, I suppose," said Kate.
"You will have a dull time, you poor thing!"
"Oh, no! I shall like it. It is so kind of Miss Forester."
But Kate sighed somewhat heavily as she spoke.
"Well, I do pity you," said Amy. "Fancy staying on here with all the
girls away. Even if you could study--but you are not allowed to do that
yet."
"I shall be all right," said Kate. "I must have patience."
She did not add any more, but went out of the room.
Cecil and Hester found themselves alone.
"I wish I could do something for her," said Cecil; "but I can't. I'd
give anything to invite her to stay with the boys and myself; but the
only lodgings we can secure at Hazlewick are so small and poor that I
could not possibly ask her to share them. Poor dear Kate! when I look
at her I do long for money."
"Well, you will have plenty of money some day, Cecil," said Hester.
"You have but to cultivate those wonderful brains of yours, and you
will be able to do anything. You don't know what Miss Forester and Miss
Leicester think of you, and for that matter, all the professors; they
say you will pass your B.A. brilliantly by and by, and after that, of
course, you can take up anything."
"I have a great deal to work for," said Cecil. "How quickly this term
has gone! Of course I shall love to be back with the boys; but I shall
be glad, too, when we can return to our life here. But for the anxiety
about Kate, I could have done better than I have done. During the worst
part of her illness, I could scarcely think of my studies at all."
"You ought to be a nurse or a doctor or something," said Hester. "Miss
Leicester says you would make a splendid lady doctor; she said she
never saw anyone so young with such self-control."
"By the way," said Cecil, "I wonder if that report is really true about
Kate."
"What report?"
"Perhaps I ought not to speak of it, but I know you are her friend,
Hester."
"Rather; I'd do anything for her," said Hester Temple.
"Well, it was Alice Wright, who lives at Dacre House, who told me, and
Alice is a very careful sort of girl. She knows a cousin of Kate's, a
Mr. Dixon; he is a solicitor in London, and Alice's mother wrote to
tell her that Mr. Dixon has gone bankrupt, and that poor Kate's little
money has been all swallowed up in the smash. I don't think Kate knows
herself, but Alice says it is perfectly true, and that Miss Forester
is carefully considering the case. She is so fond of Kate that nothing
would induce her to cast her off, and, besides, Kate is still too weak
to bear any shock. At the same time, Miss Forester can't keep her
here if she has no money to pay her fees. If Kate were in her usual
health, she is so full of pluck that she could stand anything, even a
reverse of this sort. I wonder what Miss Forester will do; it would be
perfectly horrid for Kate to feel that she was here on charity."
"Well, don't say anything about it," said Hester. "I expect something
will be arranged during the vacation, and we shall know when we meet
next term."
Cecil left the breakfast room feeling rather depressed. She went
shortly afterward to school, and in the course of the morning, between
two lectures, came suddenly face to face with the principal.
"My dear," said Miss Forester, in her genial way, "are you well? You
don't look quite as bright as I should like to see you. I hope you are
not studying too hard; there is no use in overdoing anything, even
study, Cecil."
"No, I am not working too hard," said Cecil, "but oh, if I might talk
to you!" she added, throwing emphasis and almost passion into her
words.
Miss Forester laid her hand on her shoulder.
"You certainly may, my dear girl," she replied. "Let me see. Molly
Lavender is coming to see me this evening. I have arranged to give her
half an hour at five o'clock, but if you come to me at six, I shall be
delighted to have a chat with you. I am interested in you, Cecil. If
you go on as well as you have begun, you are likely to do the school
credit. Can you come at six to-night?"
"I certainly can," replied Cecil. "I am anxious to see you, but not
about myself; I want to say something about Kate O'Connor."
Miss Forester laughed.
"I am hearing about Kate O'Connor, morning, noon, and night," she said.
"All you St. Dorothy girls seem to have gone wild about her. Well, my
dear, don't look so puzzled; I am very fond of Kate; I will listen to
anything you have to say about her with great pleasure. I will expect
you at six this evening, Cecil."
Cecil ran off with a beaming face.
"Molly," she said, as they were going home together, "I am in luck! I
met Miss Forester twenty minutes ago, and she invited me to go and see
her this evening. I told her that I wanted to talk to her about Kate; I
mean to have everything out, if I can."
"Are you going to-night?" said Molly. "She invited me to tea with her."
"Yes; I am to go afterward."
"And you mean to talk to her about Kate?"
"Yes."
"What about her?"
"Well, her vacation for one thing, poor darling! How is she to get
better, living on all alone here?"
"She needn't," said Molly, beginning to skip as she walked; "it is all
arranged in the most beautiful, perfect way. I will just tell you now,
Cecil, for you can think it over during dinner, and then we can discuss
the thing in all its bearings later on. Grannie--you know what a brick
she is?"
"I should rather think I do," said Cecil warmly.
"Well," continued Molly, "she can't have me this Christmas. That love
for silence seems to grow and grow upon her. The poor darling will
soon bring herself to such a pass that she won't even be able to stand
the creaking of a chair; but what heavenly plan do you think she has
suggested? I am not to go to her, but I am to have a jolly, jolly,
merry, merry Christmas, for all that. Oh, Cecil, and it will help you
too, and those boys of yours, and Kate! Oh, I think it is just too
perfect! I do think grannie has the sweetest thoughts in all the world.
Aren't you quite delighted?"
"But you forget, you have not told me yet," said Cecil.
"Of course, no more I have. Well, listen: we're all to be grannie's
guests this Christmas, not at her house in London, but somewhere at
the seaside. Grannie will take lodgings for us, and we are to be as
jolly and merry as ever we please. She has invited me, of course, and
you too, Cecil, and the four boys, and Kate, and she thinks the seaside
will do us good, even if it is cold weather; and now all we have to
decide on is what part of the coast we will visit, and how many rooms
we will require, for grannie, who is very rich, will pay everything,
so that the horrid money part needn't trouble any of us. Now, Cecil,
aren't you glad--aren't you delighted?"
"But it seems too much to take," said Cecil.
"Too much! Oh, if you're going to begin that nonsense, I'll never speak
to you again! Don't waste words over it, Cecil, for you will have to
yield in the end, and you may as well do it with a good grace."
"It will certainly be a good relief to Mr. Danvers," said Cecil.
"Yes, of course; and, poor man, his feelings ought to be a little
considered. Of course you will accept, Cecil; say 'yes,' this minute."
"I don't see how I am to refuse, Molly. It is quite the most perfect
idea I ever heard of in all my life."
"Yes, isn't it? Won't grannie have a jolly Christmas, even though she
is all by herself. Why, her heart will be just bubbling over with
contentment."
"But she would not like it to bubble," said Cecil. "Oh, she is the
dearest old lady in the world! But Molly, darling, I very nearly lost
my reason trying to stay quiet enough that day, when she told me that
she had left me five hundreds pounds in her will."
"Well," said Molly, "I am too happy for anything. We'll tell Kate after
dinner, and then you and I, Cecil, must arrange all about the lodgings.
We need deny ourselves nothing, for grannie will want us to have a real
good time."
The girls had a consultation after dinner, or rather, Molly harangued
and arranged, and Kate and Cecil sat by and listened, with sparkling
eyes and flushed cheeks. Much of Kate's old high spirits returned
to her for this auspicious occasion. It turned out that she knew a
great deal more about the seaside than either of the other girls,
her home in Ireland being within a mile of the coast. She suggested
an unfashionable seaside resort; she further added that the sea was
grandest in winter, when the great storms came, and the waves were
sometimes, figuratively speaking, mountains high. She described with
great vividness a storm which she and her grandfather had witnessed on
the broad Atlantic, how the great rollers came dashing and breaking
in, and the clouds of spray wetted your face, even though you stood
many yards back from the raging sea. Then she described a vessel on
the rocks, and the lowering of the lifeboat, and the rescuing of the
drowning people, and the man and the little girl whom she and her
grandfather took home that night; the terrible grief of the man, whose
wife had been drowned in the shipwreck, and the feel of the little
child's arms round Kate's neck as she lay huddled up in her bed.
"But all that sounds perfectly awful," said Molly, when Kate paused for
breath.
"Yes, the shipwrecks are awful, but the sea itself is magnificent,"
said Kate, "you can't be near it without loving it. Oh, it will give me
a fresh lease of life to breathe the dear salt air again!"
"Then the seaside is decided on," said Molly, with emphasis; "and all
we have to do is to find a suitable place, not too fashionable. I wish
we could go as far away as Penzance or Falmouth, but it seems scarcely
worth while for such a large party to take so long a journey; I must
think it all over very carefully. There is one thing now I want to
decide."
"What is that?" asked Cecil.
"Why, that we should leave all our books behind, and just take a
few good novels; one or two of Sir Walter Scott's, a Dickens and a
Thackeray, and perhaps Miss Austen. Just let us live for pleasure for
a whole month. Oh, I know it seems a wrong thing to say, but, for my
part, I think I shall study all the better when the month is over, if I
do not work during that time."
"Agreed," said Cecil, looking up wistfully.
"Ceci, I know you are pining to work that brain of yours," said Molly,
"but I am certain a month's rest will be best."
She looked full at Kate as she spoke.
Kate's eyes had suddenly assumed a wistful look; she gave Molly a
direct glance, and the delicate rose color flooded her pale cheeks.
"I don't think it is fair to Cecil," she said suddenly.
"If we all agree, what matter does it make to Cecil?"
"But it does; it makes a great deal," continued Kate. "I know perfectly
well, Molly, why you are proposing it, and I think it is very, very
good of you. You don't want me to feel out of it; but I shan't, dear
Molly; I shall try and have patience. I know it is impossible for me to
compete in any way with you and Cecil now."
"I see," interrupted Cecil suddenly. "I did not know what Molly meant
at the time. Yes, it is a good thought; we'll all rest our brains.
Kate shall not even read, but we'll read aloud to her, and so badly
that she's certain to drop off to sleep in a quarter of an hour; and
you know, Kate, the doctor said that sleep was better for you than any
medicine."
"I know," said Kate, with a sigh.
Her high spirits had vanished; she looked paler than usual.
"I wish I did not feel so weary," she said. "I wish this horrible
depression, and good-for-nothingness would leave me."
"It will when you are at the seaside," said Molly.
"And I defy you to be very depressed in the company of Maurice and
Jimmy," continued Cecil. "Oh, you have never met the boys; you don't
know what rascals they are, not Maurice--he is a prince of boys--but
the others."
"Yes, I can vouch for their all being the most extraordinary and
delightful quartet in the world," said Molly, with a laugh. "Well, I
must go now: it is nearly five o'clock, and Miss Forester has invited
me to tea with her."
"Don't stay too long," called out Cecil. "Remember, I am due at school
at six."
"I shall give myself exactly half an hour by the clock," replied Molly,
with a smile.
She left the room, and, five minutes later, was knocking at the door of
Miss Forester's charming sitting room.
"Come in!" called the principal.
Molly entered. Tea was on the table; Miss Forester was seated by a
desk, examining some exercise books, she glanced round quickly when
Molly entered the room.
"Pour me out some tea, like a good girl," she said; "then help
yourself, and don't say a word to me for a minute or two."
She turned once more to the work over which she was busy. Molly poured
out tea, helped herself to a cup, and then gave many shy glances at the
principal's beautiful, tall, and slender figure, her strong face, with
its deep, dark eyes and lovely expression.
"How good she looks!" thought the child, "how brave! she has the sort
of expression which a conqueror ought to wear, even to look at her
helps me. Oh, yes! I am sure she has had many a fight, and I am also
certain that she has always come off victorious. I wish I could tell
her about that vow I made, and how very hard I find it to keep it, and
how frightened I am now and then, when I wake in the night and think
about it. Perhaps if I don't faithfully keep it, God will send some
fresh punishment to poor Kate; perhaps I did wrong to vow at all."
"Molly, child, what are you thinking about?" said Miss Forester
suddenly.
She rose as she spoke, came up to the fire, and drew a little table
luxuriously toward her; as she did so, she gave Molly a penetrating
glance.
"Bring your chair nearer, my dear," she said; "you look, not exactly
troubled, but anxious. Now, I don't want my girls to be anxious. What
is the matter, Molly? have you anything on your mind?"
"Yes," said Molly; "I have."
Miss Forester was silent for a minute.
"I never force anyone's confidence," she then said slowly, "but I am a
middle-aged woman, and you are a young girl. It is just possible that
my experience may be of value to you."
"I'd rather tell you than anyone else in the world," replied Molly,
with a sudden burst of enthusiasm.
"Then why not, my dear child? you have surely come here for the
purpose, have you not? What is worrying you, my dear Molly Lavender?"
"I'll tell you as quickly as I can," said Molly "You remember about
Kate, don't you?"
"Kate O'Connor!" said Miss Forester, with a laugh. "I am not likely to
forget her, I find her name in everybody's mouth."
"It was the time when Kate was ill," said Molly; "that fearful day
when Dr. Groves thought she might never get better. Don't you remember
finding Cecil and me by her bedside?"
"I do, and I thought you had no business to be there."
"Perhaps not," said Molly, coloring; "but I was so restless and
wretched that I could not keep away. Miss Leicester called me out of
the room a moment or two after you went, and told me that a London
doctor was coming, and that there was to be an operation, and that
Kate's life hung in the balance. I felt nearly wild; I thought that
I could not live if Kate died--there had been a horrid cloud between
us two, and I had not been able to set matters right with Kate, and
I did feel that life would be unendurable if Kate were taken away. I
went into the cathedral, and I knelt there and prayed to God. I was in
desperation, and I spoke in a desperate way. I asked God to make Kate
better, just as if I were demanding something from him, and I said, 'If
you will do it, I will do something for you; I will give up my life
to you, if you will only do it.' Miss Forester, I spoke in a sort of
passion, I felt so fierce and wretched and desperate, then I came away,
and in the morning Kate was better, and now she has recovered. But
there is my vow to God, I daren't break it, and yet I don't know how
to keep it. I promised to give myself to him altogether. I did it, not
because I love him, but because I wanted something from him; but now,
at any cost, I must keep my bargain. Oh, what am I to do? what am I to
do?"
"To live the consecrated life," said Miss Forester slowly.
Molly's head had been lowered, tears were running down her cheeks; she
looked up at these words.
"I don't pretend that you did right, Molly," said the principal; "but
you did as many another poor tempest-tossed soul has done before
you--you struggled to make a bargain with your Maker. Well, child, he
was gracious enough to answer your request; now keep your part."
"That is what I want to do," said Molly; "but can I, can I do it
without love?"
"Don't you love your Heavenly Father, my dear?"
Molly blushed.
"Not as I love Kate," she said; "nor Cecil; not as I love you."
"Come here, my love, and hold my hand."
Molly went up to Miss Forester's side. Her soft little hand was clasped
in the kindly grasp of the older woman.
"I have lived through a great many of these tempests," she said,
bending down and looking into Molly's flushed face. "When I was your
age, I did not love God best; but now there is no one like him. We were
made for God, Molly, as St. Augustine said; we can't be happy apart
from him. We don't know that when we are young, but if we use life
aright, it teaches us this great lesson. You have made a vow, dear, and
you must keep it."
"But ought I to go as a missionary or anything of that sort?" asked
Molly.
Miss Forester could scarcely help smiling.
"Missionaries are not the only people who keep a vow of consecration,"
she said.
"But doesn't it mean that I ought to do something very special?"
"It means," said Miss Forester suddenly, "that you ought to do your
school work, and your home work when it comes, from quite a different
standpoint from that which influences the girl whose life is not
consecrated. You must set God in the middle of your life, and do
everything from his point of view. You say you don't love him much
now, but love will come very quickly. It is surprising how soon the
vain and silly things of life will assume their true proportions, how
interesting all your fellow-creatures will be, because you will try to
look at them from the point of view from which God regards them. You
must make a friend of your Father in heaven; where Christ would have
denied himself, you must do the same. My love, it is not an easy life,
but it is a very grand one. It need not, in any sense of the word,
prevent your enjoying the innocent pleasures of the world; you may be
the kindest of friends, the most loving of daughters, the most diligent
of pupils, all the more, not the less, because you lead a consecrated
life."
"Thank you," said Molly, in a low tone. She soon afterward took her
leave.
As she walked back to St. Dorothy's she thought with a feeling of
almost rapture of all that Miss Forester had said to her; her spirit
was so uplifted that she thought no temptation too strong not to be
easily overcome.
"And I can be happy as well as good," thought the young girl, as she
skipped lightly over the ground. "What a delightful Christmas we are
all going to have! how beautiful the world is! Oh, yes! God is very
good, and I ought to love him; I do love him. I wonder if ever a time
will come when I shall feel that I love him best of all."
"Hullo! I say, Molly Lavender, won't you stop for a minute?"
The voice was Matilda's, who came hurrying and panting across the
quadrangle.
"I saw you ahead of me, and I rushed on," she said. "I want to speak
to you very badly; I wonder if you will do something for me. You have
professed to be friendly to me since I came to St. Dorothy's; well,
now is the time for you to prove your own words."
"I will do what I can for you, of course, Matty," said Molly, in her
pleasantest voice. "Now, what is the matter?"
"Matter enough," pouted Matilda; "you don't know what a day I've had!
All my Christmas is completely ruined! You can just make it bearable
for me, if you like."
"What can I do?" said Molly, but somehow or other the pleasure had gone
out of her voice; she had a certain premonition of what was coming.
"I will tell you," said Matilda, slipping her hand through Molly's
arm, and swinging along, in her usual ungainly gait, by her slight,
young companion's side. "I have just had a letter from mother, and my
cousin Bob, who lives with us--bother him!--has gone and taken scarlet
fever, and of course he is at home, and of course I can't go back for
Christmas, and of course mother wants me to stay at Redgarth, but I
won't; so there!"
"Oh, I am really sorry for you!" said Molly. "But what is to be done?"
"Why, this," said Matilda eagerly; "I heard Cecil and Kate talking over
that delightful scheme of yours for the seaside, and I want to join
you. I know perfectly well that neither Kate nor Cecil can bear me, but
you profess to be my friend, and you can manage it for me, Molly. Now,
will you say 'yes,' Molly? Say you will be my friend; say you will
manage it for me."
"I really can't!" said Molly, in a cross voice. "It is quite
impossible."
"There, I knew you were a humbug like the rest of them," said Matilda,
removing her hand with such violence from Molly's arm that she almost
pushed her down. "I know you got up early last Sunday to go to the
communion, but you are like the rest of those stupid folks who profess
so much; when it comes to the point you'll do nothing."
"But, but," said Molly, "it is grandmother's party, and she said
nothing about you. I can't do it, Matilda--I really can't!"
"You know perfectly well it is your party, and that the old lady will
do as you please. Anyhow, you can write and ask her if I may come; you
can say I am a plain, good sort of girl--I shan't mind if you run down
my appearance a bit. If you just add I am a chum of yours, she'll agree
fast enough, and of course mother will manage my expenses. If you don't
do it, Molly, I shall go to the Kings' at Brighton, I vow and declare
I will! I won't stay here. Mother was in a way when she wrote, and she
never thought of the Kings, but I'll remind her of them. You wouldn't
much like to be in _that_ house if you knew what it was like--card
parties on Sunday, and no end of fun; and as to the flirtations, why,
Arabella has had six proposals already, and she's not nineteen! I
don't really care for the Kings, they are such a fast lot; but I'll go
to them rather than stay here. If I were with you, Molly, perhaps I
might be even a little bit _good_, or perhaps I might try to be good.
Well, it is for you to decide."
The girls were passing the cathedral at that moment; the voices of the
choir came out on the evening air.
Molly thought, with a sort of shock, of her vow. She was just having a
pretty sharp encounter with the enemy. Was she to fall so quickly and
so soon? She turned abruptly, and looked full at her companion.
"To tell you the truth, Matilda," she said, "I'd rather not have you."
"Well, that's pretty frank, upon my word!" said Matilda; "and why?"
"Because," said Molly, "you don't care for Cecil and Kate, and because
I do; because Cecil, Kate, and I are harmonious in every sense of the
word. You have not our tastes, you have not our ideas, your plans
for yourself in life are not a bit the same as ours; but rather
than--rather than you should be wretched and perhaps do yourself harm,
Matty, I--I will talk to the girls about it. There, don't say anything
more. I will let you know to-morrow."
Molly dashed away as she spoke, rushed into the cool hall at St.
Dorothy's, ran upstairs, and locked herself into her own little room;
there she fell on her knees and wept bitterly.