The synopsis had disappeared! Incredible though it seemed, it was but
too true. For the first few minutes Dreda was too much stunned to move
from her seat, but presently with a painful effort after self-
possession, she arose, and began hastily lifting the contents of the
desk, and dropping them one by one on the floor. In this way it seemed
impossible to overlook anything, but still no sign of the shining black
cover met her sight. She scooped everything together with impatient
fingers, pushed them back into the desk, and ran breathlessly into the
study.
The girls were amusing themselves in various fashions after the fatigues
of "prep.," but one and all looked round with expressions of
astonishment at the violent opening of the door which heralded the
unexpected appearance of the sub-editor, white-cheeked, and tragic of
demeanour.
"What in the world's the matter?"
"The list! The synopsis! It's gone! It was in my desk. Miss Drake
sent me for it. She is waiting for me now, and it's _gone_: I can't
find it. Has anyone moved it? Does anyone know where it's gone?"
The girls' faces lengthened; there was a moment's tense silence, then
everyone spoke at once.
"_Dreda_! How dreadful! Are you _sure_? In your desk? No one would
take it out of your desk!"
"Dreda! You are _always_ mislaying your things. You have put it
somewhere else. _Think_! Remember your keys! You vowed you had put
them in your glove drawer, and they were found in the box with your best
hat."
"Have you been upstairs to look in your cubicle?"
Dreda stamped with impatience.
"Of course I haven't. My cubicle, indeed! As if I would keep a book
there! It was in my desk, I tell you. I left it there last night. I
saw it with my own eyes this morning. Oh! don't ask silly questions--
don't waste time. She is waiting for me. What am I to do?"
"Come!" cried Susan quickly, and sped upstairs towards the classroom,
while Dreda followed hard in her wake, leaving the other girls to
discuss the situation round the fire. The universal impression was that
Dreda had stowed away the book in some hiding-place, and had promptly
forgotten all about it. She was always doing it; never a day arrived
but she went about inquiring in melancholy accents if anyone had seen
her indiarubber, her penknife, her keys, her gloves. She was always
leaving things about, and, upon suddenly discovering their presence,
popping them into impromptu hiding-places to save running upstairs--
behind a photograph, in an empty flower-pot, beneath a mat or cushion,
anywhere and everywhere, as circumstances prompted. Nothing was certain
but that nine times out of ten she would forget the whole incident, and
would have no better clue to help her in her search after the missing
article than that she had put it "somewhere!"
"Poor old Dreda!" said Barbara sympathetically. "Hard lines, when she
has worked so hard! The Duck will be down upon her like a ton of
bricks. She loathes untidiness. Poor old Dreda--she'll get a rowing
instead of praise. It's tragic when you think of that fine cover, and
all the beautiful black letters!"
"She's been an awful bore. It will do her good to be taken down a bit."
"Poor Dreda all the same. Things that do you good are so _very_
disagreeable. I like her enthusiasm, when it doesn't interfere with me!
And she's a real good sort. A bore at times, but a good little
meaner."
"It's no use meaning, if you don't perform, where The Duck is concerned.
I wouldn't be in her shoes."
Meanwhile Dreda had turned out the contents of her desk for a second
time, while Susan stood anxiously looking on. When the last paper had
fluttered to the ground, the two girls faced one another in eloquent
silence.
"It isn't there," said Susan at last. "There must be some mistake.
Think, dear! Are you _quite_ sure that you put it here, and nowhere
else? What did you do after you finished binding the papers? Where did
you go? Think of everything you did."
"But I did nothing!" cried Dreda miserably. "I only dressed and went
down to supper. I never took it out of this room at all--I'm certain,
positive--as certain as I'm alive!"
"But we could look. It is worth while looking. We must find it!"
But at this very moment the door of Miss Drake's room opened, and a
quick voice called out a summons.
"Dreda! I am waiting. Kindly come at once."
The colour ebbed still further from Dreda's cheeks, her eyes grew wide
and tragic, she extended her hands towards Susan, as if mutely appealing
for help, and felt them clasped with a strong protecting pressure.
"You must go, but I'll search. I'm a good looker, you know. Poor
darling! It _is_ hard, but I'll help--I _will_ help."
Then Etheldreda the Ready threw her arms round her friend's neck and
cried brokenly:
"Susan, dear Susan, you are good, and I love you! I was horrid about
the editorship... You would have been far better than I. This is my
punishment--I have brought it on my own head."
Her voice was so sweet, her eyes so liquid and loving, she drew herself
up and marched to her doom with so gallant an air, that her faithful
admirer thought instinctively of the martyrs of old. She turned and ran
hurriedly upstairs.
Meantime Miss Drake sat looking towards the door with an impatient
frown. The frown deepened at sight of Dreda's empty hands, and she
tapped on the table with the end of her pencil. Dreda's heart sank
still further at the sound which Miss Drake's pupils had learnt to
associate with their blackest hours.
"You have kept me waiting for ten minutes, Dreda. Where is your
manuscript? I have no time to waste."
"I--I--can't--I can't find it, Miss Drake."
Miss Drake leant back in her chair and became in a moment a monument of
outraged dignity. Looking at her, it was impossible to believe that one
had even ventured on the liberty of calling her by so familiar an
epithet as "The Duck." She turned her long neck from side to side,
elevated her eyebrows, and cleared her throat in an ominous manner.
"I am afraid I don't understand. You told me a few minutes ago that
everything was ready."
"So it was. In my desk. I left it there last night--I went to find it
just now, and--it's gone! Disappeared. I can't _think_ what has
happened. It was bound like a book. It looked beautiful. It's not my
fault!"
"Nonsense, Etheldreda!" cried Miss Drake sharply. "If you had put it in
your desk, it would be there still. This is just another example of
your careless, unmethodical habits. You have put the book in some
unlikely, out-of-the-way corner, and have forgotten all about it. I
feared some _contretemps_ of the kind, and was much relieved when you
told me that all was ready. I am very much disappointed and annoyed!"
"Miss Drake, it _was_ there! I'm absolutely positive. I never was
surer of anything in my life than that I left it there last night, and
saw it again this morning."
Miss Drake shrugged her shoulders expressively.
"Extravagant assertions do not prove anything, Etheldreda. In a case of
this sort I judge by previous experience. I have repeatedly warned you
about your careless habits, but apparently without success. In this
case you had a responsibility to fulfil for others as well as yourself,
which should have made you doubly careful. You had better continue your
search in the other rooms."
"It is no good, Miss Drake. The book _was_ in the desk."
Dreda kept her place stolidly, and there was a settled conviction upon
her face which Miss Drake was quick to note. She watched the girl in
silence for several moments, her brow knitted in thought, then suddenly
her expression softened and her voice regained its habitual kindly tone.
"If you put it there, my dear child, it must be there still. Perhaps it
is! I know your sketchy fashion of looking. See! I will come and help
you to look again. Perhaps we shall find the book hidden away in a
corner where you have never thought of looking!"
Dreda thought ruefully of the scattering of her treasures which had
twice over left the desk bare and empty, but it seemed easier to allow
Miss Drake to see for herself than to protest any further; so she meekly
opened the door and followed the governess down the passage. From above
could be heard the voices of the girls ascending to dress for the
evening; doors opened and shut, and echoes of suppressed laughter
floated to the ear. Everybody, Dreda reflected darkly--everybody was
happy but herself! She led the way to her desk and opened the lid,
revealing the confused mass of books and papers. She was miserably
resigned to receiving yet another lecture on untidiness, but The Duck
smiled in a forbearing fashion, and said:
"You _have_ been making hay of your possessions! No wonder you could
not find what you wanted. Now what was this book like? You said that
the papers were bound."
"A shiny black cover with a paper label on the back."
Miss Drake lifted up the loose papers with her pretty white hands, laid
them daintily on one side, and proceeded to examine the exercise books
one by one, while Dreda stood by in hopeless silence. One might search
all day and all night, but it was impossible to find what was not there.
Her eyes looked listlessly on the map book, the arithmetic book, the
French exercise book; even the big untidy note book roused no flicker of
animation, though if it chanced to fall open it would reveal caricature
drawings of school authorities which must needs draw confusion upon her
head. She would never have the heart to draw caricatures again! The
thick book with the mottled cover contained the compositions which had
won praise and distinction. She had felt so proud of the "Excellent"
written in pencilled letters at the end of the final sentences. Never
again would she know what it was to be happy and gay! The big drawing-
book must have suffered from its fall--for the leaves appeared to be
bent and doubled back. Dreda felt the calm indifference of despair, but
Miss Drake frowned and made a clicking sound of disapproval.
"My dear! Your drawing-book! You are really incorri--"
She stopped short in the middle of the word, for the moment that the
drawing-book was opened her quick eye had caught sight of a shiny black
cover behind the crumpled papers. She lifted it rapidly, saw the
printed label on the back, and held it out towards her pupil with a
mingling of triumph and impatience.
"My dear Dreda! What did I tell you? All this fuss for nothing. You
are really too trying. Why didn't you look properly before coming to
me?"
Dreda's exclamation of bewilderment was echoed by another, as Susan
entered the room on her return from her unsuccessful search upstairs.
She added her own quiet testimony to Dreda's excited protestations that
the synopsis was not, could not conceivably have been in the desk when
she had turned it out ten minutes before, but Miss Drake refused to
listen. Her temper was ruffled, she enforced silence with an imperative
gesture, bade Dreda follow her to the study, and seated herself at her
desk with her most severe and school-mistressy expression.
As for Dreda, she feebly dropped into a chair and sat staring blankly
before her, the image of limp dejection. The very stars in their
courses seemed conspiring to fight against her, for no ordinary, every-
day reason could explain the extraordinary happenings of this afternoon!
She was so stunned and bewildered that she forgot to watch the effect
of the great synopsis on the Editor-in-chief, and so missed a delightful
study in expressions, as The Duck's irritation gave place to smiles and
dimpling spasms of amusement. It was only after she had finished the
reading (after all the labour of production what a short time it took to
read), and had asked a word of explanation, that Dreda seemed suddenly
galvanised into fresh life, but as usual with her, when the awakening
came, it came with a vengeance. She leapt to her feet, and disregarding
the question, launched her thunderbolt with dramatic vehemence.
"Miss Drake, I wish to resign being editor."
"Do you, Etheldreda? Why?"
The voice was so calm, Miss Drake's whole manner so devoid of surprise
or chagrin, that Dreda felt as if a douche of cold water had been
suddenly poured down her back. No kindly protests, no encouragement, no
sympathy. Nothing but that cool, level "_Why_?" She stood gaping and
hesitating, for in truth it was hard to answer. To say that she was
sick of the whole thing because she had encountered a few initial
difficulties and worries seemed mean and poor-spirited, and Dreda could
not think so lightly of herself. In the minute of hesitation she had
lightly brushed aside difficulties, and felt a swelling of righteous
renunciation.
"Because--I want Susan to take it. She would do better than I."
"Have you only just discovered that, Dreda?"
The question was put in a tone which Dreda had never heard before from
Miss Drake's lips--a tone so tender, so gentle and conciliatory, that it
startled as much as the words themselves. Dreda stared, the colour
paling on her cheeks, her hands clenched at the back of her chair. What
did it mean? Susan had volunteered her services, and Miss Drake had
deliberately rejected them in favour of herself, and now she said, she
implied-- The girl's lips quivered as she spoke again:
"You _chose_ me!"
"Why?" asked Miss Drake once more, in the same gentle voice. "_Why_,
Dreda? Think a moment! Does it not occur to you, dear, that I might
have chosen you, not because the work needed _you_, but because you
needed the work? Your duties called for patience, and perseverance, and
method, and punctuality, and neatness, and tact--all qualities which
needed development in your case; while in Susan's--"
"You would rather have had Susan! You didn't really want me at all!"
The bitter disappointment in the girl's voice went to the hearer's
heart. It was one of the hardest tasks which she had ever had to
perform to answer truthfully, and so give another pang to the sensitive
young heart. The colour rose on her cheeks and her brows twitched
nervously, but she would not allow herself to prevaricate.
"Yes, Dreda, dear. For the sake of the work I should have preferred
Susan, but I wanted to help you to get the better of your failings. I
wanted it so much that I was prepared to undertake the extra work which
your carelessness might involve, for the magazine could not be allowed
to suffer. I am afraid it is painful to you, dear, to hear this, but if
your vanity is wounded, you can comfort yourself with the remembrance
that I was so much interested in you, so anxious for your improvement,
that I rejected a most capable helper on your account."
"Thank you!" sighed Dreda faintly. There was not a sign of irritation
or resentment in her manner, and her thanks were evidently genuine. She
might have posed as an image of humility and abasement as she stood with
bowed head and downcast eyes before the desk. The swing of the pendulum
had brought her into the valley of humiliation, and in characteristic
fashion she felt a melancholy pleasure in playing her part as thoroughly
as possible. "Thank you. You are very good. I am very grateful. We
have to learn our lessons in life, I suppose, but it's hard at the time.
It's been a great _shock_, but it's good for me, I suppose. I can
never be careless again. I've read in books about something happening
and finishing the girl's youth. I feel like that now! You meant me to
learn, and I _have_ learnt, so there's no need to go on. You can have
Susan, and no more bother--"
Miss Drake's lips twitched in a smile which fortunately Dreda did not
see.
"I think not, Dreda. I should prefer to keep to present arrangements.
If you have really learnt your lessons so quickly there will be no
`bother' to fear. You may go now, dear. We will discuss the synopsis
later on. I dare say you will like to have a little quiet time before
dinner. Come to me to-morrow at the same hour."
Dreda backed silently from the room a picture of tragic despair, and
slowly mounted to the dormitory where the faithful Susan awaited her
coming. The two girls faced one another in silence for several moments
before Dreda spoke.
"Susan! on your word of honour will you answer me a question
truthfully?"
"Yes, Dreda, of course I will."
"Why did you offer to be sub-editor after I had asked?"
Poor Susan! The freckles disappeared in a crimson blush which mounted
to her temples, and tinged her very neck beneath the stiff brown band.
She twisted her fingers together, and stammered incoherent nothings.
"Go on! You promised. The truth, and nothing but the truth."
"Dreda, dear--"
"Go on! I'm prepared. I've suffered so much humiliation already that a
little more or less doesn't matter. Well?"
"I thought--I was afraid--I didn't want you to get into trouble, dear.
You are so clever, and original, and sparkling, it is natural that you
should get tired. I am just a dull, plodding old machine."
Dreda bent her tall young head and kissed her friend with an air of
humble adoration.
"You are good and true, and I wronged you. I thought you were as
despicable as myself. All my life long I shall try to be worthy of your
forgiveness. My heart's broken, Susan! Everyone despises me in this
school, and I've an enemy, a secret enemy, who is hiding like a snake in
the grass. You know perfectly well that that book was not in the desk
when we looked!"
Susan was silent. She was as sure of the fact as it was possible to be,
but her cautious nature reminded her of the possibility of mistake, and
she would not venture on a definite assertion.
"I _thought_ it was not; I _thought_ we turned out everything."
"I _know_ we did! It was the work of mine enemy. Some day I'll
discover her, and then--"
Susan looked sharply upwards.
"What then?"
"I'll heap coals of fire on her head! I'll forgive her, and try to lead
her into better ways. That's all that's left to me now--to be a beacon
to others!" Dreda's voice shook, her composure breaking down before the
force of her own eloquence. She sank down on her bed, and the tears
rolled down her cheeks. "Oh! Oh! My heart will break. If it wasn't
for the exeat next week I should lie down and die. I'm going home!
They love me there. I never, never valued it before. I'm going home to
mother and the girls!"