hers with a force that was almost painful. She looked overcome with
gratitude, nevertheless, now that it had been agreed to talk, both felt
a decided difficulty in deciding what to talk about, for even a
temporary coldness between friends heaps up many barriers, and in this
particular case it was difficult to feel once more at ease and
unconstrained. It was Pixie who spoke first, and her voice was full of
shy eagerness.
"How's your father, Mademoiselle? Is he having his health any better
than it was?"
"A little--yes, a little better. He is in the South with my brother
until the cold winds are over in Paris. He is like me--he hates to be
cold, so he is very happy down there in the sunshine. I told you about
him then, did I? I had forgotten that."
"Yes, you told me that day when I--when I lassoed you on the stairs, and
I wrote the verb not to be rude to you any more. You said I would
remember that, and I do; but perhaps you think I have done something
worse than being rude, Mademoiselle! I want to know--please tell me!--
can your bottle be stuck together so that you can use it again?"
Mademoiselle's face clouded over. She had recovered from her first
violent anger about the accident, but it was still too sore a subject to
be lightly touched.
"No," she said shortly, "it cannot mend. I tried. I thought I might
use it still as an ornament, but the pieces will not _fit_. There is
perhaps something missing. I have just to make up my mind that it is
gone for ever. It seems as if I should never know what happened to it."
An expression of undoubted relief and satisfaction passed over Pixie's
face as she heard these last words, but Mademoiselle was gazing
disconsolately in the fire, and it had passed before she looked up.
Perhaps she had hoped that her words would draw forth some sort of
confession, but, if so, she was fated to be disappointed, for when Pixie
spoke again it was to broach another subject.
"Mademoiselle, I've a favour to ask you! I've been afraid to do it
before, but you are so kind to-day that I'm not frightened any longer.
It's about the party at the end of the term. The girls say they always
have one, and they will be broken-hearted if they miss that as well as
all the holidays. It is no use my asking, because it's me that's in
trouble, but, Mademoiselle, it was your bottle that was broken. If you
asked Miss Phipps, she couldn't find the heart in her to say no!
Please, Mademoiselle, will you ask if the girls can have their party the
same as ever?"
Mademoiselle looked, as she felt, completely taken aback by this
unexpected request. It sounded strange indeed coming from Pixie's lips,
and it was difficult to explain to the girl that she herself would be
the greatest hindrance to the granting of such a request. She looked
down, fingered her dress in embarrassment, and said slowly--
"For my part I should be glad for the girls to have their party. It is
hard that they should all suffer, and it _is_ dull for them. I have
been here three years, but it was never so dull as this. Yes, I would
ask, but what would Miss Phipps say? That is a different thing! It
seems odd to stop the holidays and give the party all the same, and--do
you not see?--the bad girl--the girl who will not say what she has
done--she would have her pleasure with the rest, and that would not be
right. It is to punish her we have to punish many."
"But if I stayed upstairs--" cried Pixie eagerly, and then stopped
short, with crimson cheeks, as if startled by the sound of her own
words. "I mean I am the one they are vexed with; they want to punish me
most. If I stayed upstairs in my own room, or was sent to bed, why
shouldn't the others have their party? It would be an extra punishment
to me to hear them dancing, wouldn't it now?"
Mademoiselle threw up her bands in an expressive silence. In all her
experience of school life never before had she met a girl who pleaded in
such coaxing terms for her own humiliation, and she was at sea as to
what it might mean. Either Pixie was guilty, in which case she was one
of the most arrant little hypocrites that could be imagined, or she was
innocent, and a marvel of sweetness and charity. Which could it be? A
moment before she had felt sure that the former was the case, now she
was equally convinced of the latter. In any case she was gratified by
the idea that she herself should plead for the breaking-up party, and
was ready to promise that she would interview Miss Phipps without delay.
"And ye'll not say that ever I mentioned it," urged Pixie anxiously,
"for maybe that would put her off altogether. Just ask as if it was a
favour to yourself, and if she asks, `What about Pixie?' `Oh, Pixie,'
says you, `never trouble about her! Send her to bed! It will be good
for her health. She can lie still and listen to the music, and amuse
herself thinking of all she has lost.'"
The beaming smile with which this suggestion was offered was too much
for Mademoiselle's composure, and, do what she would, she could not
restrain a peal of laughter.
"You are a ridiculous child, but I will do as you say, and hope for
success. I like parties too, but it will not be half so nice if you are
not there, _petite_! See, I was angry at first, and when I am angry I
say many sharp things, but I am not angry any more. If it had happened
to anyone to break my bottle by mistake, she need no more be frightened
to tell me. I would not be angry now!"
"Wouldn't you?" queried Pixie eagerly, but instantly her face fell, and
she shivered as with dread. "But, oh, Miss Phipps would! She would be
angrier than ever! The girls say so, and it is only a fortnight longer
before the holidays, and then we shall all go home. If it is not found
out before the holidays, it will be all over then, won't it? No one
will say anything about it next term."
"I do not know, Pixie. I can't tell what Miss Phipps will do," returned
Mademoiselle sadly. She felt no doubt at this moment that Pixie was
guilty; but that only strengthened her in her decision to plead for the
party, for it did indeed seem hard that twenty-nine girls should be
deprived of their pleasure for the sake of one obstinate wrong-doer.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
DIVIDED OPINIONS.
"Girls," announced Miss Phipps after tea, two evenings later, "I have
something to tell you which I am sure you will be delighted, and also
much touched to hear. You have, I suppose, taken for granted that no
breaking-up party would be held this term, as I have unfortunately had
to deprive you of all holidays and excursions. For myself, I had put
the matter entirely aside, as out of keeping with our present position,
but you have had an advocate whom I have found it impossible to refuse.
Someone has pleaded your cause so eloquently that she has gained the
day, and I have now to announce that your party will be held as usual on
Wednesday next, a few days before we break up. Don't thank me, please!
It is someone else who deserves your thanks. Can you guess who it is?"
The girls were jumping about in their seats, all excitement and delight.
Ethel was tossing her curls, Flora beaming from ear to ear, Kate's eyes
were dancing behind her spectacles, Margaret was looking across the
table at Pixie with an anxious, scrutinising glance. Who could it be--
this unknown champion? There were whispering and consulting on every
side, but the first suggestions fell wide of the mark.
"Mrs Vane!" said one, mentioning the name of the giver of the "Alice
Prize," which was held in such importance in the school. But no, it was
not Mrs Vane. "Miss Ewing!" cried another, naming a friend of Miss
Phipps, who on one memorable occasion had begged a holiday for the
entire school; but it was not Miss Ewing. "Nearer home, nearer home!
She is in this room now!" cried Miss Phipps, laughing; and then it was
impossible to look at Mademoiselle's red cheeks and remain in doubt any
longer.
The gasp of surprise, of gratitude, of admiration that went round the
room was the most eloquent acknowledgment of the generosity which had
prompted the request, and Mademoiselle grew redder than ever, as she
reflected that she would not have deserved any thanks had it not been
for the suggestion of another. She looked instinctively at Pixie, and
met a smile which reached from ear to ear, and was fairly beaming over
with exultation. No one in the room looked so beamingly happy, but the
next moment the smile gave way to a startled expression, as Miss Phipps
continued slowly--
"There is one girl whom I am unfortunately obliged to except in giving
my invitation, and that is Pixie O'Shaughnessy. Whether she is guilty
of really breaking Mademoiselle's scent-bottle or not, it is impossible
for me to say, but a suspicion has rested upon her which she has
persistently refused to remove. I cannot allow a girl who defies my
authority to be among us on such an occasion, and though the fact that
she is in disgrace will cast a shadow over our evening, I consider that
I have no choice in the matter. On Wednesday night, then, Pixie, you
will have tea by yourself in the schoolroom, and go up to bed at seven
o'clock."
"I will, Miss Phipps," said Pixie faintly. She had blushed until her
face was crimson from the roots of her hair to the tip of her chin, and
her face stood out like a vivid peony among those of her companions.
Everyone looked at her, and the glances were more kindly than they had
been for many a day; for it is easy to be sympathetic when we get our
own way, and have shifted the burden off our own shoulders on to those
of another. When the Principal left the room, attention was almost
equally divided between Mademoiselle and Pixie, who were each surrounded
by a group of excited talkers.
"Oh, Maddie, I do call you an angel! It was simply sweet of you to
plead for us when you have been the one to suffer. I'll love you for
ever for this!"
"So shall I, Maddie, and you'll see how well I'll do my verbs! I'll
never worry you any more, but be so good and industrious. Dance with
me, do, the first waltz, and I'll be gentleman, and not let you bump
into anybody!"
"Pixie dear, I'm so sorry, but you would rather the girls had their
party even if you couldn't go, wouldn't you, dear?"--this from Margaret,
while Lottie tossed her head and said--
"She needn't distress herself! There is nothing to make a fuss about.
Party, indeed! A fine sort of party! No one comes, and it is just like
any other night, except that you dance and wear your best things!"
"And have programmes, and trifles, and jellies, and crackers, and all
sorts of good things, and sit up until ten o'clock! But I'm awfully
sorry you can't come, Pixie. If I get a chance I'll bring you something
upstairs from the supper-table. You can't put lumps of jelly in your
pocket, but if there is anything dry, I'll bring it to you when I go to
bed!"
"So will I, Pixie. My party frock has a baggy front, so I can carry a
lot. I could get a whole cheese-cake in when no one was looking. Or
would you rather have a mince pie?"
"I think I'd rather have--both," said Pixie sadly. "I shall be so
hungry, lying alone repining! I have never been to a party except once,
at Bally William, and that wasn't a party either, for there was only me
and two other boys, and the girls of the house, but we had crackers all
the same, and I got an elegant little fan. The same I offered to you,
Lottie, when you went out last time!"
"I remember, but it didn't go with my dress. That's another thing,
Pixie--you haven't a dress to wear, so it's just as well you aren't
asked, after all! I managed to make you presentable for a half-term
evening, but that old frock of yours would never do for a breaking-up
party."
Well, Lottie evidently intended to be comforting, but she had an
extraordinary tactless way of going about it, Kate reflected angrily.
She herself had a much happier inspiration, when she said with an
elaborate affectation of relief--
"And it's an ill wind that blows nobody good! What we should have done
without you to help us to dress, I really don't know! Mind you come to
me first now. Ethel doesn't need you half so much, for her hair curls
naturally, and mine always takes an unruly turn when it sees my best
dress, and refuses to lie as I want it."
The listeners opened their eyes significantly, for no one had ever seen
Kate's hair untidy, and it was impossible to imagine the lank locks
exhibiting roving propensities; but Pixie smiled, and that was all that
had been desired. Pixie flicked the tears away and cried eagerly--
"I'll plait it in four, like I used to do Bridgie's when she went
visiting. You wouldn't believe the style there is to ut. Esmeralda
said no one would believe that it was really her own. It was for all
the world as if she had bought a plait and stuck it on. I'll make yours
look like that too, if you'll give me time!"
"Oh, I'll give you time!" laughed Kate pleasantly. Her conscience
misgave her when she thought of her behaviour during the last days, and
saw how ready the child was to forgive the cold contempt, with which she
had been treated. It was pleasant, too, to hear again of Bridgie and
Esmeralda, who had been so long unmentioned, and who must really be the
funniest creatures! And now that the poor little scrap was to be
punished in such drastic fashion, one might venture to show pity without
being accused of encouraging wickedness. After all, she had so far been
convicted of no worse crime than obstinacy.
Unfortunately for Pixie, some of her companions took a different view of
Miss Phipps's decision, seeing in it a proof that the Principal at least
was convinced of her guilt, and so felt themselves bound to follow her
example by ostracising the offender. Some of Lottie's followers were
among the number, and that young lady found herself in the difficult
position of being drawn two ways at once, for she had vowed to befriend
Pixie, yet was loth to risk her popularity by acting in opposition to
the general feeling. She took refuge in an easy neutrality, remaining
silent when gibing words were passed from mouth to mouth, and avoiding
every opportunity of coming into contact with Pixie herself. With so
many girls about and the rush of examination work on hand, this was easy
enough to accomplish, for Lottie was ambitious, and made special effort
to come out in a good position on the list. Every evening she pored
over books to "stew" up the subject of the next day's exam, and every
morning seated herself before her desk, and became immediately immersed
in the paper before her. Oh, those papers, what agony and confusion of
spirit they brought to one poor scholar at least! Pixie had been
informed that the secret of examination work was to carefully read over
the list of questions, and then set to work at once on the one she could
answer best, be it number one or six; but what was a poor girl to do
when she was convinced that she could not answer one at all? No one had
even imagined such a position, and yet it was the one in which she found
herself over and over again during those last miserable days. She was
so unused to examination work that the formal wording of the questions
frequently disguised their meaning, and made her imagine ignorance when
in reality she could have answered correctly enough; and oh, what misery
to look around the room and see every other girl scribbling for her
life, and looking as if the only difficulty was lack of time to write
all she knew!
Pixie's mode of proceeding was to print an elaborate heading to her
paper, and while away a quarter of an hour in adding ornamental
flourishes to the double lines, and in elaborately darkening the down-
strokes of her capitals. Then she would scribble on her blotting-paper,
dropping intentional blots upon a clean page, and weaving them into a
connected picture with no little skill and ingenuity. At this point a
sharp reminder from teacher or scholar would bring her back to another
melancholy perusal of the paper, and she would read and read the
questions, in the melancholy hope of finding them grown more easy for
the time of waiting.
Sometimes a query was put in so straightforward a form that it was
possible to answer it in a single word, and then with glee Pixie would
print "Question two" in ornamental characters, and write "Yes!"
underneath it with a glow of exhilaration. At other times, as in the
grammar paper, a question would make no calls on the memory, but would,
so to speak, supply its own material, when she attacked it with more
haste than discretion in her delight at finding something which she
could really accomplish.
To give an example--Miss Bruce, the English teacher, quoted the
sentence, "How sharper than a serpent's tooth is an ungrateful child!"
and asked to have it paraphrased so as to show the two predicates which
made it into a complex sentence. Pixie licked her lips over this
opportunity, and squeak, squeak, squeak, went her pen along the paper,
making the other girls look up and raise their eyebrows at one another
in surprised comment. Writing at last, and so eagerly too! Pixie must
surely have an inspiration at last; and so she had, for the big straggly
writing set forth an extraordinary sentence: "How sharper it is to have
an ungrateful child, than it is to have a serpent's tooth!"
"Humph!" mused Pixie, gnawing her pen, "there's a queer sound to it too.
If I didn't know for sure it was right, I'd be just as certain it was
wrong!" and so the paraphrase remained, to astonish the eyes of Miss
Bruce, and give her a hearty laugh in the midst of the dreary work of
reading examination papers that evening.
"Well, who comes out first in the exams it is impossible to say, but
there is no doubt who will be last! I don't think Pixie O'Shaughnessy
will get more than a dozen marks for a single paper she has written,"
was the remark of a certain Evelyn, one of the leaders of the anti-Pixie
faction, on the day before the breaking-up party. "We used to think her
clever, but it was only a bubble, which has collapsed utterly the last
few weeks. A guilty conscience--that's my explanation! I call her a
hardened little wretch, for she doesn't seem to mind a bit not being
allowed to come down to-morrow. You might have thought that she would
be perfectly miserable, but instead of that she really seems in better
spirits than before."
"She does, and she likes to hear about the party, too! Just watch her
when we are talking about it, and she is all eyes and ears. We saw some
of the refreshments coming in to-day, and she positively beamed! I
said, `Those are for supper to-morrow!' and she said, `Are they as nice
as usual? Do you think it will be as grand as last year? Will you have
every single thing just the same as if Miss Phipps hadn't been angry?'
I said that if Miss Phipps did a thing at all, she would do it properly,
and that I was quite sure it would be quite as `grand,' and she chuckled
with delight, just as if she were going herself. I can't make her out."
"Perhaps she thinks that Miss Phipps will relax at the last moment, but
if she does, she is very much mistaken. There will be no pardon for her
until she speaks the truth. As I said before, I believe she is just a
hardened little wretch who doesn't care what happens to her, and that is
why she doesn't show any sign of feeling."
"She has looked miserable enough until now. Why not give her the
benefit of the doubt, and believe that, whether she is guilty or not,
she is generous enough to be glad that the whole school is not to be
punished?" asked Margaret gently. "Whatever Pixie has done, she is too
warm-hearted to be called `hardened,' and I think some of you girls make
a great mistake in treating her as you do. You will never do any good
by bullying, for she is so terrified at anything like unkindness that it
makes it still more difficult to speak. You would have more influence
if you were kinder to her."
"Oh, Margaret, you are so absurdly good-natured! It's always the same
cry with you. You would forgive everybody, if you had your way!" cried
Evelyn impatiently, and promptly flounced across the room, leaving
Margaret and Lottie alone by the fire. They looked at each other in
silence, and then Margaret summoned up courage to make an appeal which
she had been meditating for some days past.
"They won't listen to me, Lottie, but they would if you asked them. It
is really cruel to be always gibing and jeering as they are, and the
older girls ought to set a better example. You are fond of Pixie too,
and want to do the best for her. Can't you persuade your friends to
treat her better for the rest of the term?"
Lottie shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and frowned in worried,
discontented fashion.
"It is only three days longer. What is the use of making a fuss? It is
idiotic of Pixie not to tell what she was doing in Mademoiselle's room,
and I can't go about lecturing the whole school because she chooses to
be obstinate! I am going to invite her to stay with me in the holidays,
and will give her a good time to make up for all this. What's the good
of worrying? The girls will be too busy packing and preparing for the
party to think of her any more now."
This was true enough, so true that Margaret could say no more, though
she could not suppress the reflection that Lottie might have given the
clue weeks before, if she had been so disposed. "But, as she says, the
worst is over. Nothing much can happen in three days," she told herself
consolingly; wherein she was for something very exciting indeed was
fated to happen before half that time had elapsed!
CHAPTER TWELVE.
THE DISCOVERY.
The next afternoon all was bustle and confusion in Holly House, servants
setting the tables in the dining-room, and clearing the large classroom,
in preparation for the party, and governesses and pupils dressing
themselves with as much care as though they expected to meet a hundred
strangers, instead of the everyday school set, without a single
addition. Dresses which had not seen the light since the half-term-
holiday were brought forth once more, with such additions in the shape
of sashes, flowers, and gloves as befitted the greater importance of the
occasion, and in her own bedroom Pixie O'Shaughnessy was whisking to and
fro, attending to the wants of three exacting mistresses, who all seemed
to require her at one and the same moment.
"Hi, Pixie, come here! This place is getting knee-deep in clothes.
Just put them away."
"Now then, Pixie. I'm waiting for this hair-dressing! You make it look
like an artificial plait, or there'll be trouble in this camp."
"Oh-h, bother! The more hurry the less speed. Now I've broken this
tape. Has anyone got a bodkin? No, of course not! There never is a
bodkin when I want one. You'll have to manage with a hairpin, Pixie,
and be sharp about it. I shall be late for tea at this rate!" So on,
and so on, and at each summons in rushed an eager little worker, so
deft, so willing, so incredibly quick in her movements, that her
mistresses were overcome with admiration.
"Your hands do you more credit than your brains, young woman!"
pronounced Kate judicially. "You will never be a mistress of a High
School; but you are a born lady's-maid, and you can come to me for a
reference when you need it."
"That's what Esmeralda says. I am going to be her maid when she marries
the duke. He comes down to hunt near Bally William, but he really lives
in England, in the most beautiful palace, with peacocks on the lawn.
Esmeralda's going to have the drawing-room papered in yellow, to suit
her complexion, and to set the fashion of having little sisters to wait
upon you, like pages in old story-books," returned Pixie, with her mouth
full of hairpins, and there was a rustle of excitement in the different
cubicles.
"Esmeralda engaged! You never told us! To a duke. Which duke? How
lovely for her! When are they going to get married?"