To the delight of Dreda, and the more subdued satisfaction of the other
pupils, a magazine received the sanction of the headmistress and Miss
Drake, provided that it did not aim at more than a quarterly appearance.
"It will waken you up!" said the latter, smiling whimsically at her
pupils. "You are all rather apt to go to sleep at times, especially
when a little originality is desired; but remember that the magazine
receives official sanction as a means of education, not as a receptacle
for any rubbish you may choose to scribble. We'll have stories, of
course; but I have suffered under stories in other amateur magazines,
and am determined to raise ours above the usual level. Every girl who
wishes to write a story must draw out a synopsis of the plot and submit
it to me before she embarks on the task of writing it out. I will then
refuse or accept it, and in the latter case will talk it over with the
author, giving her some hints as to arrangement, treatment of points,
which will, I hope, be of value to the story. In fact, I should like to
have the entire synopsis of the magazine drawn up and brought to me a
month before publication. So what a Tartar of an editor I am going to
be! I have quite decided that if I am to get through the work at all, I
must have an understudy, a sub-editor, so to speak, who can keep the
contributors up to time, collect their suggestions, and submit them for
my criticism. It will involve a good deal of steady, methodical work.
I wonder--"
"I'll do it, Miss Drake. Let me. I offered to be editor before."
The words leaped from Etheldreda's lips before Miss Drake's eyes had
wandered halfway round the class. Mary's face wore its usual blank
stare, Barbara sniggled with obvious contempt, Nancy veiled her eyes
with her thick, dark lashes, Susan flushed suddenly a brilliant red.
Both Miss Drake and Dreda herself were arrested by the sight of those
flaming cheeks, for Susan was, as a rule, so calm and self-restrained
that any exhibition of excitement on her part was bound to attract
attention. What was the matter? Why did she look so anxious and eager?
What were the words which seemed trembling on her lips? Dreda felt
complacently convinced that as her own friend and ally Susan was longing
to champion her cause. Miss Drake smiled and asked encouragingly:
"Well, Susan, what is it? What were you going to say?"
The red mounted higher and higher until it reached the roots of the
tightly brushed hair. Susan's very ears seemed aflame, and her voice
had the husky note of repressed excitement.
"I--I was going to offer--I thought I could do the work for you, Miss
Drake."
Etheldreda's gasp of dismay was heard throughout the room. Her cheeks
rivalled Susan's in their flame of indignation. _Susan_ to play her
false, to endeavour to wrest a coveted place from a friend! Susan an
enemy, a rival! Dreda felt a vehement, overwhelming disgust for the
whole universe and its inhabitants, a shattering of faith in every
cherished ideal! Never, no never again, could she bring herself to
believe in a human creature!
The two girls sat silent, awaiting the mistress's decree, and Miss Drake
looked slowly from one flushed face to the other, her usually smooth
forehead showing two deep horizontal lines. It was her "thinking
look"--the look which she wore when she was trying to explain an
unusually difficult point in the day's lessons. The girls watched her
anxiously, saw the lines clear away, and the light of decision drawn in
her eyes; wondered if it were in imagination only that at the same time
they caught the sound of a faint sigh of regret.
"Thank you, girls," she said slowly. "It is sweet of you both to be so
ready to help. I am ever so much obliged to you, Susan--but Dreda spoke
first. I think I will decide to give the post to her."
Nobody heard any more than this, though Miss Drake continued talking for
several moments. Dreda was thrilling from head to foot with triumphant
joy. Susan's flush had deepened from crimson to an absolute magenta.
The other girls were torn between sympathy and amazement! For once in
their lives they were unanimous in condemnation of the beloved Duck's
judgment, and could not imagine what she had been dreaming about to
choose Dreda Saxon for a post of responsibility, when that most reliable
of Susans could have been had for the asking. No one made any remark,
however, and Dreda, glancing expectantly around, failed to meet any of
the congratulatory smiles which were surely her right on so auspicious
an occasion. The girls were sitting stiff and straight in their seats,
staring at their desks in their most prim and wooden manner. Susan was
the only one who ventured a struggling smile, and from her Dreda
contemptuously turned aside. Hypocrisy was a failing for which she had
no tolerance!
It was with a visible effort that Miss Drake continued the discussion in
her usual bright, cheery manner.
"The term is already a month old. I should like to have the synopsis of
the contents of the magazine by to-day fortnight--say the tenth of next
month. We can then allow three weeks for composition and a week for
typing, and still have the magazine ready a week before the holidays. I
have quite decided that everything must be typed: the effect, as a
whole, will be far better. Faults in style and composition stand out
before us in print as they never do in our own familiar handwriting.
Moreover, I have other schemes working in my head." She paused, smiling
mysteriously. "I won't explain now, but later on, perhaps ... Do your
best, girls! Some of you have real talent. Who knows, this little
venture may be the beginning of some great career. How proud I should
be in time to come if I could say of a celebrated author: `She was my
pupil. She wrote her first story or essay or poem for our school
magazine!'"
She paused, looking round the class. Once more her gaze lingered on
Susan's downcast face, but there was no response in its immovable lines.
The other girls vouchsafed strained, uneasy smiles. Only from Dreda's
ecstatic eyes there flashed back a joyful comprehension. How beautiful
the girl looked! Her vivid colouring, all pink, and white, and gold,
made an almost startling contrast to the duller tints of the other
girls.
It was impossible to resist the fascination of so fair a sight, yet
there was a touch of wistfulness in the teacher's smile.
The class dismissed, it was time to go upstairs to dress for supper, and
Dreda found herself alone in the bedroom with her two companions. Nancy
peeled off her blouse, threw it upon the bed, and brushed out her heavy
locks in determined silence. Susan approached Dreda with a tremulous
smile.
"Oh, Dreda--I'm glad! I hope the magazine will be a success. If I can
help you in any way do let me try."
But Dreda glared at her with sparkling eyes.
"You are _not_ glad! You tried your very best to be editor yourself,
though you _knew_ how disappointed I should be. I thought you were my
friend. You are not. You are an enemy, and not even an honest enemy at
that! You need not trouble yourself about me any more, for lessons or
anything else. I can get on quite well alone!"
Susan shrank, as if from a blow.
"Dreda, you are angry. You don't understand. It's no trouble. I love
to help you."
"Much obliged. I don't care for such help. Please don't talk to me any
more. I _am_ angry. I have a right to be angry!"
Dreda pulled her screen with a jerk, cutting herself off from the corner
where Susan performed her toilet. Seated on her bed, Nancy brushed at
her long, sleek hair, keeping it spread as a veil before her face.
Dreda waited in vain for a glance of sympathy, or understanding, but it
never came, even when Susan had crept softly from the room and the
constraint of her presence was removed. Nancy finished brushing her
hair, and rose to her feet in the lightest, most unperturbed of
fashions:
"Got any pins you can spare?"
Nancy was celebrated for the number of pins which she used in her
toilet. Things wouldn't fasten without them, she declared. She was
fairly bristling with pins, so that her most ardent adorers moderated
their embraces, mindful of the scratches which had been their reward in
days of inexperience. Dreda eagerly selected half a dozen of her most
cherished fancy-headed pins, and handed them across the bed.
"Of course. As many as you like. I say, Nance, I'm sorry to have made
a scene. I _could not_ help it!"
"Oh, don't apologise. I like a good row now and then. Not for myself--
it's too much trouble--but it's amusing to listen to other people when
they get excited. They give themselves away so delightfully."
Dreda flushed, and knitted her brows.
"I wasn't at all excited in this case. I was angry--_righteously_
angry! It's one's duty to protest against mean, underhand actions."
"Such as wanting the best positions for ourselves?"
"Certainly not. That is only natural ambition--laudable ambition. The
mean thing is to try to oust someone else--your own best friend, when
you know she could do it better than you!"
"Yes!" mused Nancy thoughtfully. "That does sound mean ... This sub-
editor post is going to be so difficult that it ought certainly to go to
the right person. A careful, methodical, machine-like sort of creature,
who will never forget or let others forget. The girls are slack enough
about regular work, and will be a hundred times worse about an extra,
and The Duck is a tartar about punctuality. It's going to be a problem
to please them and `keep the peace.' But you have had a magazine at
home, so you know all about it. Susan has had no experience."
Nancy had seated herself on her bed once more, her hands clasped round
her knees, her lips slightly apart, showing a glimpse of the golden bar
round the front teeth; her long, Eastern-looking eyes met Dreda's
without a blink, yet for some mysterious reason Dreda felt her cheeks
flush and a jarring doubt awoke in her mind. "A machine"--"never
forgetting--never late!" Not even her youthful complaisance could apply
that description to herself. The ghosts of past enterprises seemed to
rear reproachful heads, reminding her of their existence. To each of
the number had been sworn eternal fidelity, yet how short had been their
lives! The factory girl, for instance, who had received three long,
enthusiastic letters, and after the lapse of a year was still awaiting
the receipt of the fourth. Poor Emma Larkins had been so appreciative
and grateful. Dreda had been able to talk of nothing else for the first
week of the correspondence. She had planned a lifelong friendship, and
in imagination had seen herself, aged and wealthy, acting the gracious
benefactress to a second generation. _How_ had she happened to forget?
She had been busy, her father had taken her for a trip abroad, she had
joined a society for the study of French classics. The time had flown
by until she had been ashamed to begin writing again. No doubt another
correspondent had taken her place ... "_Susan has no experience_."
True! Yet if one wished to describe Susan's character, could one do it
more aptly than by using Nancy's own words? "Careful, methodical,
machine-like as to accuracy!" _What_ did Nancy mean? Was she really
and truly in earnest, or did some hidden meaning lurk behind the
seemingly innocent words? Dreda drew a long breath, and set her teeth
in the determination to set an example of diligence and punctuality to
all sub-editors beneath the sun, and by so doing to demonstrate in the
most practical of fashions her suitability for the post.