First Impressions
Patty certainly felt anything but cheerful as she stood at the top of
the steps to watch her father and mother drive away, though she put on a
brave face, and waved a vigorous farewell.
"They've only just time to catch their train," she said, turning to
Muriel. "I hope the man will go fast. It would be so tiresome for them
to miss it."
"Why aren't they staying all night at the Queen's Hotel?" asked Muriel.
"Father and Mother always do when they come to see me and so do most of
the girls' friends."
"Father wouldn't be able to spare the time," said Patty, thinking
privately that the expense would also be a consideration, though she did
not say that aloud. "He must get home to look after his patients, you
know. Mr. Barnes, our new assistant, isn't very clever, and several
people are seriously ill, and can't be left long."
Muriel shrugged her shoulders.
"I wouldn't mention they'd brought you, then," she replied. "It's
considered the correct thing for one's parents to stay at the Queen's,
and the girls will think it so queer if yours haven't. What bedroom are
you in?"
"No. 7. I hope it's a nice one?"
"Oh, tolerable! Not so nice as mine. I'm in No. 16, on the other
landing, with three of my best friends."
"Do you know who's in my room?"
"Nobody at all particular; only May Firth, Ella Johnson, and Doris
Kennedy. Do you see that new girl crossing the quad? I believe she comes
from our part of the world. She was starting too when I was setting off;
they nearly put her in my carriage, only luckily the guard had locked
the door."
"What's her name? I don't remember seeing her at Waverton."
"I daresay not. Her name's Jean Bannerman, and she lives in one of those
houses at the end of the park. I met her once at a party, but we don't
know them at all."
"Does she seem nice?"
"I'm sure I can't tell. I wasn't much impressed with her. Have you
unpacked?"
"No, not yet. My box hasn't been brought upstairs."
"It's there now. I saw John carrying it to your room. I should think
you'd better go and take your things out."
"Won't you come with me, Muriel?" asked Patty, rather shyly. "I don't
know where I'm expected to put my clothes."
"Haven't time," said Muriel, shaking her head. "I've got all my own to
do. It's easy enough; you've only to pop them into your drawers and your
wardrobe. Supper's at seven in the refectory. Why, there's Gwendolen
Farmer. I simply must go and speak to her. Ta-ta!"
And Muriel ran away to the other side of the quadrangle, leaving Patty
standing alone upon the steps.
Thus suddenly deserted, the latter watched for a moment to see if her
cousin meant to come back, but Muriel, after greeting the newcomer with
much affection, linked her arm in hers, and without even turning her
head to look round, walked through a doorway opposite, and was lost to
sight. Patty went upstairs to her cubicle with a rather sore feeling in
her heart, against which she made a violent effort to struggle. After
all, she argued to herself, it was only natural that Muriel, who must
have so many friends in the school, should be so anxious to see them all
again after the long summer holidays. She would no doubt be waiting in
the refectory to show her to her seat, and would then, perhaps,
introduce her to a few special companions. She could not mean absolutely
to ignore her, and it was absurd to take offence needlessly.
"I'm her own relation, and she surely can't forget that," thought Patty.
"She's busy now, but she'll be nicer to me later on."
Each bedroom at The Priory was divided into four cubicles by means of
curtains hung on brass rods, and each cubicle contained its own little
bed, chest of drawers, washstand, and small wardrobe. Patty was lucky
enough to have a window that looked out over the playing fields,
otherwise her division was exactly the same as the rest. The three other
occupants appeared to have already unpacked: their nightdress cases were
laid on their beds, their sponges on their washstands, various photo
frames, books, and ornaments adorned their dressing-tables, and their
curtains were drawn back, as was the rule when the cubicles were not
occupied, to allow a free current of air through the room. Patty
unlocked her box, and set to work to arrange her various possessions,
placing the photo of the family group, which had been a parting present
from home, in a prominent position, and trying to stifle the longing to
see all the dear, familiar faces again. The nightdress case, which she
had thought so beautiful when she was packing, looked quite plain and
ordinary by the side of the three elaborately worked ones on the other
beds. She had certainly nothing so dainty as the pale-pink, quilted silk
dressing-gown that she could see hanging on a peg behind the door, nor
did she possess cut-glass scent bottles, such as stood on the
dressing-table in the cubicle opposite; nevertheless Patty put her
things away with a certain pride of ownership, and when all was neatly
finished, glanced round her new quarters with much satisfaction. It was
scarcely six o'clock, and supper was not until seven, so she decided to
go downstairs again on the chance of finding Muriel, who by this time
must surely have finished her own unpacking. She waited in the hall for
a few minutes, not quite knowing what to do, until a mistress, hurrying
by, noticed her standing there, and directed her to the recreation room.
Here a number of girls appeared to be collected: a pair of bosom friends
occupied one window, and five pigtails in close proximity took up
another; by the empty fire grate a group of four stood talking
photography with a short fat girl in spectacles, seated on the edge of
the table; while others were continually passing in and out to announce
their own arrival, or to search for absent companions. Several glanced
at Patty, but nobody spoke to her, or paid any particular attention, so
she walked over to the sofa, and taking a book which she found there,
sat idly turning the pages without reading them, and feeling very
uncomfortable and extremely homesick. Everybody in the room, she
thought, seemed talking, laughing, and joking with everyone else, and
she was the only stranger amongst them. No, she was mistaken. There was
one girl as solitary as herself, sitting on the music stool, and turning
over a pile of old pieces and songs that lay on the top of the piano.
She was an interesting-looking girl, with good features, grey eyes with
very long dark lashes, a clear pale complexion, as creamy as if it had
been bathed in milk, and light-brown hair that curled charmingly round
her forehead. She did not appear to find her occupation very absorbing,
for she glanced every now and then in Patty's direction, and finally,
putting the music back on the piano, came quietly across the room and
sat down beside her on the sofa.
"I suppose you're new, aren't you?" she said. "So am I. We seem rather
out of it at present, don't we? Do you know any of these girls?"
"No," replied Patty, "not one of them. I've only just come a little
while ago."
"Yes, I saw your cab drive up. I arrived by the earlier train, so I've
had more time to get used to it. I can't say I like it at all yet,
though. To tell you the truth, I don't mind confessing I'd give
everything in the world to find myself at home again."
This was so exactly Patty's present state of mind, that she felt it
established a bond of sympathy at once with her companion, and
encouraged her sufficiently to enquire her name.
"Jean Bannerman," said the girl, "and I'm almost fifteen. What's yours?"
"Patty Hirst, and I shall be fourteen in October."
"Then I'm nearly a year older than you, for my birthday's in November.
Which bedroom are you in?"
"No. 7."
"I'm in No. 10. I don't know what my room mates are like yet. I hope
they're nice. I wish you had been one of them. It seems so horrid when
everything and everybody are strange. Isn't it dreadfully noisy here?
Suppose we go into the courtyard for a little while. It's quite light
yet, and I see ever so many girls out there. Do you know your way about
the school?"
"Yes--no--yes," replied Patty, hesitatingly.
"Which do you mean?" asked Jean, smiling.
"I mean 'yes'," said Patty. "A teacher showed us round, but I'm afraid I
didn't take very much notice, because, you see, Father and Mother were
just leaving, and I----"
Jean gave a nod of comprehension.
"Then we'll go and explore," she said. "There don't seem to be any
particular rules nor any preparation the first evening. Everybody is
unpacking, and I think we may do as we like until supper. Come along!"
Nothing loth, Patty rose and joined her companion. She was anxious to
see something of the new life into which she had been launched, and she
looked with curiosity round the large quadrangle, which appeared at
present to be the central heart of the school. Here girls of ages
varying from thirteen to eighteen were assembled, comparing holiday
experiences, examining each other's tennis rackets or hockey sticks,
passing jokes, or eagerly enquiring for news on various class topics. To
Patty it seemed almost bewildering to see so many school-fellows, and
she wondered whether it would ever become possible to learn to
distinguish their various faces, and to call each one by her right name.
"I suppose we shall get to know them in time," she said, "but it will be
confusing at first. Do you notice that some of the big girls wear
badges? I wonder what that means?"
"Let us ask somebody," said Jean, glancing round to see if there were
anyone near to whom she might venture to address her enquiry. "That fair
girl sitting on the bench over there looks nice; I'm sure she would tell
us. I don't think she's new, because she was talking to some of the
others a minute ago."
Patty turned in the direction indicated, and recognized the
fellow-traveller who had wept so copiously in the train, and whom her
companions had called Avis. Her tears were dried, but she still appeared
pensive. She held a blotter on her knee, and with a fountain pen was
evidently already beginning a letter home. She put it aside when Jean
spoke to her, and answered pleasantly:
"Of course I can tell you. The badges are worn by the prefects. They're
the six top girls, and they're supposed to keep order. It's a tremendous
honour to be a prefect. Phyllis Chambers is head of the school this
year. We're all glad, because she's so jolly, and she was our tennis
champion last summer. There she is!--that girl in the grey dress. She
won us four matches against other schools. We were so proud of her."
"Isn't she champion now?"
"We don't play tennis this term; it's all hockey. I think Mabel Morgan
is better at that. You'll both be in the lower school team, of course.
Do you know what classes you're in?"
"Not yet," said Patty. "There's to be an exam. to-morrow morning. I'm
afraid I shan't be very high up."
"Oh, you may do better than you expect. Exams. are such a chance. It's
just whether you happen to get a nice set of questions or not. I wonder
if you'll be in my class. I'm in the upper fourth, Miss Harper's."
"Is she nice?"
"Well, some adore her, and some don't care for her at all. It depends a
good deal on yourself. She likes the ones who work, but she can be
dreadfully sarcastic if she thinks you're stupid or lazy. She's
fearfully clever, and says such witty things sometimes. Half-a-dozen of
the girls absolutely worship her, but she's very fair, and won't have
favourites. I like her better than Miss Rowe."
"Who is she?"
"The second mistress in our class. You see, the fourth is in two
divisions, an upper and a lower; we do a few lessons together and some
separately. Miss Harper takes history and literature, and what I call
the more interesting things, and Miss Rowe takes arithmetic and
analysis, and looks after our preparation. There are twenty girls
altogether, counting both divisions. It's the largest class in the
school. There are only ten in the fifth."
"Which is the nicest teacher of all?" asked Jean.
"I think most of us like Miss Latimer best, the games mistress. She's
very popular with everybody. You see, we always have such fun at
gymnastics, and of course we love hockey and cricket. She teaches us
swimming too, but that's only during the summer term. There's the bell!
We must go in to supper. Do you know your way to the refectory? We all
settle places on the first evening, so it's rather exciting. Perhaps
you'd like to come with me?"
Patty would have replied in the affirmative, but at that moment she
happened to notice Muriel crossing the quadrangle, as she thought, in
search of her, and saying she had better wait, she allowed Jean and Avis
to go indoors without her. She was perfectly certain that Muriel must
have seen her, but, greatly to her surprise, her cousin turned aside and
claimed acquaintance with a chestnut-haired girl, with whom she hastened
into the house without bestowing a look in Patty's direction. The great
clanging bell was still ringing in the tower over the gymnasium, and
groups of girls came hurrying towards the refectory from all parts of
the building.
"Be quick, my dear," said a teacher, passing Patty, and noticing her
hesitation. "Everyone is going to supper. Come with me, and I will find
a place for you."
Patty followed, rather nervous, but thankful that somebody would show
her where she must sit. The refectory was almost full when they entered.
It was a large room, with a groined roof like a church, and
stained-glass windows at either side. A long table occupied the entire
length, and at one end was a raised dais, with another table for the
mistresses. It resembled in this respect the hall of a college, and was
a subject of great pride to Miss Lincoln, who liked to think that the
school had its meals in the same place where the old monks had dined six
hundred years ago. Muriel was seated towards the centre of the table,
chatting to several friends in whose company she seemed entirely
absorbed. There was evidently no room in her vicinity, and the teacher
moved farther along and found a place for Patty nearer the end. She was
between two girls rather older than herself, neither of whom spoke to
her. One appeared to be in an uncommunicative frame of mind, and
answered abruptly when a neighbour asked her a question, and the other
was occupied with a conversation with two schoolmates at the opposite
side of the table. Patty ate her supper, therefore, in silence, feeling
exceedingly shy, and very much hurt that her cousin should have treated
her so unkindly. On her first evening common politeness would have
suggested that Muriel might have sought her out and introduced her to a
few other girls, instead of leaving her thus friendless and forlorn.
Even Jean and Avis were too far away to speak to, and she was yet an
absolute outsider to everyone else. There is nothing more solitary than
to feel oneself alone in a crowd, and the tears rose to poor Patty's
eyes at the remembrance of the nursery at home, where the little ones
would just have gone to bed, and Milly and Robin would be learning their
lessons for the next day.
When the meal was over, the whole school adjourned to the lecture-room
to listen to an opening speech from Miss Lincoln, who usually began the
term with an address to her pupils. The singing class sang a few glees,
and there was a recitation by one of the prefects; after that came
prayers, and then it was bedtime. Patty was escorted to No. 7 by the
same teacher who had taken her to the refectory, and who, she learnt,
was Miss Rowe, the second mistress of the fourth class. The curtains of
the other cubicles were closely drawn, so she did not catch a glimpse of
her companions, and as all conversation was strictly forbidden, the room
was in silence. Patty went to bed in the very lowest of spirits. It had
not seemed a favourable beginning to her school life, and unless things
improved a little she was sure she could never be happy.
"I suppose I must try and make the best of it," she thought; "and one
thing I'm determined about, however wretched I feel, I'm not going to
write miserable letters home and upset Mother. She wanted me so much to
like The Priory, so I won't let her know, even if nobody ever does talk
to me or be nice. There are eighty-nine days before I can go back, and
this is one off, at any rate. I expect they'll go by somehow, though I
wish I could skip them all, and this were the last day of the term
instead of only the first."