THE GUESTS ARRIVE.
It wanted three days to the Scholarship competition. The girls who
were called in the school the lucky three now scarcely spoke on the
subject--the other girls watched them anxiously. All lessons, except
those in connection with the Scholarship, were suspended so far as Mary
Bateman, Kitty Sharston, and Florence Aylmer were concerned.
The trial essays, the essays which were to be the supreme test of
merit, were all written, and in sealed envelopes were handed in to Mrs.
Clavering. Meanwhile exercises on history, French, German, arithmetic,
were the order of the hour. The girls were busy all day long. The
three faces were somewhat pale, and lines which ought not to have
appeared round the young eyes and lips were beginning to make
themselves manifest.
"I shall be truly thankful when the thing is over," said Mrs. Clavering
to Sir John; "this is bad for them, very bad. In particular I do not
like Florence Aylmer's expression. The girl thinks too much about this
matter. If she fails she will have an illness."
"And if she succeeds Kitty will fail or have an illness," said Sir
John, restlessly.
"Kitty will feel it, but she will not have an illness," said Mrs.
Clavering; "you have but to see the expression on the two faces to know
that. Kitty is anxious also and resolved, but there is a firm, steady,
fine sort of expression about her, quite the reverse of poor
Florence's."
"Yes, I confess I do not understand that girl," said Sir John; "and
yet," he added, "I cannot help liking her; she has a good deal in her."
"I pity her, poor child," said Mrs. Clavering; "she is placed in a very
false position. I once met her aunt, Mrs. Aylmer, of Aylmer's Court;
that was on the occasion when Florence was brought to my school, and I
confess I did not take to her."
Sir John shrugged his shoulders.
"It is invidious to speak of a lady who is soon to be one's guest," he
said, "but I also have met Mrs. Aylmer."
On the morning of the same day Florence had received a letter from her
mother. Bertha Keys had gone away on the previous evening to visit a
sick cousin, and in consequence had not the charge of the postbag. She
was very unwilling to leave at this critical moment, but the cousin was
ill, required her services. Mrs. Clavering was willing to spare her
for one night, there was no help for it; she must go. "I must only
trust that no letter will come from Dawlish," she said to herself; "but
after all, even if it does, it cannot really matter. Florence must
sooner or later feel that she is in my power; perhaps the sooner the
better."
Florence found the letter from her mother on the breakfast-table. She
stretched out her hand, caught it with a firm grip, thrust it into her
pocket, and then applied herself to her breakfast.
"Why don't you read your letter? You know you are allowed to do so,"
said Edith King, who was seated next to her.
"Oh, it will do after breakfast," said Florence.
"You don't look well, Flo; what is the matter with you?"
"I am a little anxious, if you must know," said Florence, turning round
and glancing at her companion; "I have not heard from my mother for two
or three weeks; but there, of course, it is all right. She has not
even told me whether she has accepted Sir John Wallis's invitation.
Sir John told me he had written, but I cannot tell whether she is
coming or not."
"It will be delightful for you if she does come, will it not?" said
Edith King.
"Oh, yes, delightful," answered Florence. She did not speak any more,
but finished her breakfast somewhat hastily. At the first moment she
could find herself alone Florence rushed into the cherry orchard and
tore open her letter. It contained the following words:
"MY DARLING CHILD:
"Such a wonderful, extraordinary, delightful thing has happened. It is
so unexpected that it quite puts out of my head a great deal which has
made me anxious up to the present. I have received a letter from no
less a person than Sir John Wallis, the distinguished owner of that
magnificent place, Cherry Court Park, and he has invited me, my
darling, to be present at the moment of your great triumph. He says,
which I regret very much, that your Aunt Susan will also be there, but
I am asked as your guest, my child. It is all most wonderful,
unexpected, and truly fascinating. The effect on the neighbors is
already so surprising that I have literally not been obliged to provide
myself with a single meal since the news came. The Pratts have invited
me each morning to breakfast, and Ann Pratt has assiduously catechized
me, so much so that I have found an ancient book on the 'baronial halls
of England, and have worked up some information for her benefit from
this volume. I never saw anyone so eager as the creature is to find
out Sir John's income and all about him. It is extraordinary, but
still quite human nature.
"Sukey is wonderfully affected since the news came, and in fact right
and left your poor Mummy is quite an honored individual.
"I feel like a heroine, my darling, and walk about Dawlish with my head
well up. I am also quite extravagant, and am wearing that dress which
I described to you as being turned for the fifth time. It is reckless
of me, but I cannot help it. For what do you think, dear?--Sir John
has sent me a check for my expenses. He says that he could not
possibly ask me to be present if I were put to any expense in the
matter, and he has absolutely sent me twenty pounds; so I shall be able
to buy a suitable costume to be present in when I see my darling
crowned with glory.
"Oh, what a supreme moment it will be! I have already got the black
silk, and Miss Macgregor, in the Parade--you know what a fashionable
dressmaker she is--is making it up. I shall, of course, wear my
widow's bonnet, as it looks so _distingué_, and Mrs. Sweat, the
milliner in the High Street, is making up a new one, most stylish.
"I can add no more now. My heart goes pit-a-pat. When you receive
this I shall be packing for my journey. It will be splendid to see
Susan in the moment of your triumph. Altogether, dear, I never felt
more elated in my life. This great and unexpected excitement has
perfectly restored my health. I say to myself--you know, Flo, I always
was a reckless little woman--I say to myself, 'Never mind, enjoy the
present, Mabel Aylmer, even if afterwards comes the deluge.' Good-bye,
my dearest; we shall soon meet and embrace.
"Your most affectionate
"MOTHER."
Florence read the letter over once or twice. She then put it in her
pocket and paced thoughtfully up and down the cherry orchard. The
cherry trees were rapidly dropping their leaves now, and some of them
fell over Florence. She shook them off impatiently.
"It was queer of mother never to mention those postoffice orders which
I sent her," thought the girl; "she has not even thanked me for them;
but there, I suppose it is all right, and she is very happy. It was
good of Sir John to send her that twenty pounds, and yet--and yet it
chokes me to think of it. He would not dare to send the money to
Kitty's cousin, Helen Dartmoor, nor would he dare to send it to Mary
Bateman's father. Oh, if I can only win this Scholarship I shall hold
my head high and exercise that pride, which, after all, no woman ought
to be without."
Florence went back to the house, and soon afterwards Bertha Keys
entered the oak parlor. In the course of the morning she sat next to
Florence, who bent towards her and said, "I have had a long letter from
my mother."
"Oh, indeed," said Bertha, changing color in spite of herself; "and
what did she say?"
"She is coming to Cherry Court Park. Bertha, it is rather queer she
has said nothing at all about the postoffice orders. I wonder if she
got them safely."
"Is it likely she didn't?" replied Bertha, in a calm voice; "of course
she did. She was too excited to think of them; to have an invitation
of that sort would absorb her very much."
"It does absorb her very much indeed," replied Florence. "Doubtless
she forgot. Well, I shall soon see her and be able to ask her all
about the matter."
Sir John Wallis had arranged that the three girls who were to compete
for the Scholarship were to arrive at Cherry Court Park early on the
morning of the great day. They were to sleep there that night, and
return to the school the following day. The rest of the school were to
arrive in the evening, but the Scholarship girls were to have the run
of the Hall, and were to be entertained as the honored guests during
the whole of the important day.
No girls could possibly be more excited than these three when at last
the morning broke. Florence, who had scarcely slept at all the
previous night, felt that she would be almost glad, even if the worst
befell her, to have the terrible ordeal over.
"By this time to-morrow I shall be the happiest girl in the world or
the most truly miserable," she thought to herself. But the greatness
of the ordeal now had a certain composing effect, and Kitty, Mary and
Florence started off in Sir John's carriage in apparently high spirits.
"What do you think?" said Kitty, bending forward and touching Mary on
the sleeve; "Sir John has promised if I succeed to send a cable to
father. Isn't it perfectly splendid of him? He has not said anything
to father about the cable. What a surprise and delight it will be if
he gets it."
"I wish you would not tell me," said Mary; "when I look into your eyes
and see all that this means to you I feel a perfect brute, and yet
nevertheless I mean to play my very best to-night, and to sing with all
my heart in my voice, and to answer each question as carefully as I
can, for my dear, dear old father will be present. Oh, how happy, how
delighted I shall be to meet him again!"
"Yes, it will be splendid for you; and you, Florence, how glad you will
be to see your mother," said Kitty. "But, oh, dear! oh, dear! I wish
it hadn't been necessary to ask Helen Dartmoor to be present on the
great occasion."
The girls went to the Hall in neat morning dresses, but the white
dresses they were to wear in the evening, which were by Sir John's
orders to be pure white, had already been sent on to the Hall.
The day was a glorious one, and as they drove through the beautiful
scenery in Sir John's immense park a golden mist lay over everything.
At last they drew up before the great front entrance. A group of
ladies were standing in the hall. Sir John came down the steps. The
next moment a little figure was seen running briskly forward, and
Florence was clasped in the arms of the little Mummy.
"My darling! my darling!" said little Mrs. Aylmer. Florence kissed her
with a quick passion, held her then at arm's length, looked into her
face, and crushed some moisture out of her own eyes.
Meanwhile a very trim, staid-looking woman, with faded hair, pale blue
eyes, and a correct, old-maid sort of demeanor, had given Kitty a light
kiss on her forehead. "How do you do?" she said, in an accent which
was truly Scotch. "It was very kind of Sir John to invite me to the
Hall. I hope, for your own sake, you will win the Scholarship."
Kitty answered as brightly as she could.
"If not, of course, you are fully aware that you will be my guest for
the next two or three years. It is scarcely likely you will win the
Scholarship, and I have already been making all the arrangements I
could with regard to your instruction," said Miss Dartmoor. "Will you
come round the place now with me; I should like to have some
conversation with you. I have not seen you for some little time."
Kitty gave a wild glance round. Would not Sir John help her? Helen
Dartmoor was the only person in the world that she truly disliked. She
felt a restless sensation rising up in her heart, but there was no
escape. Sir John had gone off with Mary Bateman and Mary's father.
Florence and her mother had already vanished inside the house. Kitty
had to submit to her fate.
Helen Dartmoor walked with prim, small steps. She had a little
three-cornered shawl on her shoulders, and an old-fashioned bonnet was
tied under her chin. Her perfectly cold, serene face glanced now and
then at Kitty.
"You are not improved, Catherine," she said.
"Why do you say that?" replied Kitty.
"You look anxious and excitable. I dislike a woman showing any
emotion. Of course, you are only a child yet, but I trust if I have
the care of you, which I fully expect to have--for it is scarcely
likely you will for a single moment win this ridiculous Scholarship--I
trust that I shall send you out to your father a well-mannered and
decorous woman. I have the greatest dislike to the manners of the
present day, and the new sort of girl who is growing up so rapidly in
our midst is thoroughly abhorrent to me."
"Well, Helen," said Kitty, glancing full at her, "I know you won't mind
if I am frank. I certainly wish to win the Scholarship; I am
struggling with all my might and main to win it. It is of the utmost
importance to me, for I want to be as well educated as possible when I
go to dear father in India; but if I fail--yes, Helen, I will try my
very best to please you while I am under your roof."
"Hoots, lass, you cannot do more, but do not speak in such exaggerated
phrases. Now let us walk down this avenue. What a beautiful view!
How soothing is nature in all her aspects!"
Kitty could not help shuddering. "Oh, dear! oh, dear!" she whispered,
under her breath, "how am I to live if I lose the Scholarship!"
Meanwhile little Mrs. Aylmer, clasping a firm hold of Florence's arm,
had carried her off right through the house and into one of the gardens
at the back. "Your Aunt Susan is not down yet," she said; "it is the
most merciful Providence, for I judge from her manner of last night
that she means to absorb you. Now, then, darling, tell me what are
your chances?"
"Oh, I don't know, mother; I suppose they are pretty good, and I have
tried my best--I can't do any more."
"Really, Florence, you look quite splendid; I would not know you for
the same girl. How your figure has changed; you have attained quite an
elegant shape, my love--small waist, rounded form, a little pale, paler
than I should wish, but your eyes have greatly improved; they have got
a sort of pathetic expression in them which is very becoming, very
becoming indeed." Mrs. Aylmer danced in front of Florence, examining
each feature critically, her own small eyes twinkling, and her round
face flushing in her excitement.
"Oh, isn't it a magnificent place?" she said, "and such a dinner as
they had last night--course after course, if you'll believe me. I
should think there must have been fifteen courses if there was one. I
kept counting them, and then my poor head got so confused, for I was
seated not far from Sir John, and he talked to me in such a kind,
marked sort of way, and your Aunt Susan kept glittering her pale blue
eyes at me as if she was eaten up with jealousy. I tell you, my
darling, I did enjoy myself; I gave myself away, and talked in a frank,
pleasant, easy sort of style. I made several of the guests laugh, I
did really. Florence, my dear, my dress is beautiful; it quite stands
out with richness. I assure you, my love, you will have no cause to be
ashamed of your little Mummy to-night. I got Miss Macgregor to put a
yard and a half of train into the back--a yard and a half, Flo, and it
quite adds to my height. I have not had such a lovely dress since your
poor dear father's time--that I haven't. I thought I would like to
thank Sir John in private, and to tell him that I have made the money
for my expenses go so far that I was able to purchase the dress."
"Oh, mother, please, please, mother, don't!" said Florence, in a tone
of agony.
"Why not, my sweet child? If Sir John knows that I am thoroughly poor
he may give me another little _douceur_--there's no saying."
"Oh, mother, mother, you don't know what agony this gives me!"
"My poor child, but are not you glad that your little Mummy has got
some money? Dear me, Flo, I have been ill since you saw me last. I
was almost at death's door, and Dr. Hunt was so kind, coming in two or
three times a day. But there, I have not paid his bill yet; it is
fearful to think of it! Now, I should really like to take Sir John
into my confidence. I would not ask him for the money, but I should
just tell him exactly how I am placed, with so much a year--very, very
little; a scrimped, tightened widow: that's the only way in which I can
express my condition, scrimped and tightened, nothing else. A generous
cheque from him would set all right."
"Mother, you must promise me here and now that you will say nothing on
the subject to Sir John. And, Mummy dear, that reminds me, you never
acknowledged my postoffice orders. I know I hadn't much to send you,
but what I did have I sent, and I promised that you should have ten
shillings a week, my pocket-money, until you had paid the doctor's
bill. I could do no more. Mummy dear, what is the matter? Why do you
look at me like that, Mummy?"
"I may well ask you what is the matter?" said Mrs. Aylmer, now standing
stock still in front of her daughter and raising a round, agitated face
to Florence. "Postoffice orders, and from you, Flo! Oh, my dear,
darling, precious child, I have been wondering at never hearing from
you. I wrote to tell you all about my illness--not until it was over,
Flo; as I said to myself, 'No, the child shall not be disturbed; that
Scholarship she must win. I will not tell her that her mother is ill
until her mother is out of danger.' But when the danger was past I
told you--oh, my darling, I have not had any postoffice orders from you
nor any letters whatsoever--none whatsoever, Flo, and I have been so
astonished. I have tried not to feel hurt. I am very sensible about
most things. I was sure that you did not write because you were too
busy to write, but still, in the dead of night, I did shed one or two
tears--I did really, my own pet."
"But, mother, this is too extraordinary for anything. I sent you two
postoffice orders, the first was for two pounds, the second for one.
Do you mean to say that you never got them?"
"Never, my darling; I have been robbed. Who could have done it? Oh,
Flo, this is fearful; three pounds sent to me by my own darling, and I
never to receive the money! What can it mean, Florence--what can it
mean?"
"Say no more, mother; I will see about this."
CHAPTER SIX.
TIT FOR TAT.
The long, bewildering, beautiful day was over and the three candidates
for the coming competition were being dressed for the occasion.
The dressing took place in one immense room where the girls were
afterwards to sleep, and the assistants at the dressing were no less
people than Miss Helen Dartmoor, Mrs. Aylmer the great, and Mrs. Aylmer
the less.
Mrs. Aylmer the great and Mrs. Aylmer the less fussed round Florence,
fussed round her to such an extraordinary degree that she felt a mad
desire to thrust them both out of the room.
The very beautiful dress which Aunt Susan had purchased for Florence in
London was, after all, not to be used on this occasion, for Sir John
had given forth his mandate that each of the three candidates was to be
dressed exactly alike, and as this was his supreme wish he further said
that he himself would purchase the dresses for the occasion.
These were made in Greek style, and were long, flowing, and simple.
The material was the finest white cashmere edged with swansdown, and
each girl had clasped round her waist a belt of massive silver, also
Sir John's present. Their hair was unbound and hung down their backs,
being kept in its place on the head by a narrow fillet of silver.
Nothing could be simpler and yet more graceful than the dress, the long
flowing sleeves falling away from the elbow and showing the young
molded arms distinctly.
It so happened that no dress could suit Kitty better, and doubtless Sir
John had an eye to the appearance of his favorite in such a robe when
he ordered it.
Florence also looked very well in her Greek costume; and even Mary
Bateman seemed to acquire added grace and dignity when she put on the
pretty classical robe. The girls wore sandals on their feet, and
altogether nothing could be choicer and prettier than the dresses which
Sir John had devised for them.
Little Mrs. Aylmer almost hopped round Florence as she was being
attired in her festive robe.
"I am sure," she said, "I can guess the reason why; I have been
wondering over it all day, and at last the solution has come to me.
Listen, my dear Miss Bateman; listen, Miss Sharston; Susan, you cannot
prevent my speaking. I see, Miss Dartmoor, you are thinking me a
little fool, but I have guessed at the solution. It is because in the
moment of triumph the brow of the young victor--victress, don't you
say? no, of course, victor--will be crowned with a laurel wreath. Ah,
how sweet! Florence dear, nothing could be more becoming to you."
Miss Dartmoor was heard to give an indignant snort. She went up to
Kitty and looked at her with marked attention.
"I hate the heathenish sort of dress," she exclaimed, "but if it comes
to that, I believe that Catherine Sharston will look just as well with
a chaplet of leaves round her head as anyone else in the room."
"Oh, we are not disputing that point," said Mrs. Aylmer the less,
chirruping away as she spoke, and dancing up to a neighboring
looking-glass to take a side view of her own dress; "we are not
disputing that point. The one who wins the Scholarship will look
beautiful in her wreath of glory. Time will prove who that lucky
person will be."
Here she winked at Florence, who turned away.
Her head ached; there was a heavy, heavy feeling at her heart. She had
one great desire, which for the time being swallowed up all others, and
that was to see Bertha Keys for a moment alone. Bertha was to arrive
with the rest of the school in time for the great ceremony, which was
to take place in the great central hall of the old house.
The hall had been decorated for the occasion, and in its dark recesses
gleamed now many fairy lamps. In the middle of the hall was a dais, on
which the judges were to sit, and before whom the young competitors
were to appear when the crucial moment came.
A flood of light from many incandescent burners poured down upon this
dais, making it one of dazzling light.
The rest of the girls of the school were to sit in a darker part of the
hall; they were to be dressed in their best. The guests were to occupy
a gallery to the left, except those guests who, by Sir John's special
invitation, were to sit upon the dais and give their votes in favor of
the essays. Desks were provided also in the middle of the hall for the
three young competitors, at which they were to sit to answer the
questions which were to be asked them by three professors specially
sent for from London by Sir John.
There was not to be the slightest indication of who the successful
winner was to be until the crucial moment, and the examination from
first to last was expected to occupy about an hour and a half.
While it was going on very soft music was to be played on a distant
organ; the competitors were then to go forward and to stand in front of
the judges while the three essays were read aloud by no less a person
than Sir John himself.
The judges would retire, something like a jury at a court of justice,
on hearing the essays, to give their votes for the lucky winner of the
Scholarship, and then Sir John was to crown the successful girl with
glory. A chaplet of silver bay-leaves was to encircle her brow, and
the locket and chain were to be put round her neck. She was to receive
the purse which would contain the expenses for one year at Cherry Court
School, and the parchment scroll, which through all time would testify
to her ability and her triumph, was to be put into her hand.
"Yes, nothing could be more perfect than the arrangements," said Miss
Dartmoor, who had heard all about the programme during the course of
the day; "but," she added, fixing her eyes now upon the elder Mrs.
Aylmer's face, "I disapprove of this sort of thing immensely. I don't
suppose for a single moment my cousin, Catherine Sharston, will get the
Scholarship; but seeds of envy and discontent will be sown in her
heart, and I shall have some trouble in bringing her into a proper
frame of mind when she joins me in Scotland."
"I pity you," said Mrs. Aylmer, in reply to this speech, "but the girl
looks well-meaning and easily influenced."
"Oh, am I?" thought Kitty, who overheard these words and who could not
help giving her little head a toss; "I doubt it. Oh, if it were not
for father I don't think I could go through with this evening."
Meanwhile Florence had slipped out of the room. In her pretty Greek
dress she glided down the corridor, met a servant, and asked her if the
young ladies from school had yet come.
"Yes, miss," was the reply, "and they are all unrobing in the green
bedroom at the end of this corridor."
"I should be so much obliged if you would do something for me," said
Florence.
"Of course I will, miss," was the reply. The girl gave Florence a
long, admiring look. She could not help being struck with the elegant
dress and the eager, passionate, quivering face. "What is it you want,
miss?--I'll do anything you wish."
"I want you to go into the green bedroom and ask if Miss Keys is there.
If she is, say that I, Florence Aylmer, would like to see her for a few
moments."
The servant tripped off at once, and a moment later Bertha joined
Florence in the corridor.
"Is there anywhere where we can be alone?" said Florence, clasping
Bertha's hand.
"Oh, my dear Flo, how lovely you look! What a charming, charming robe!"
"Don't talk about my dress now, and don't say anything about my looks;
I want to speak to you," said Florence.
For a wild moment Bertha Keys felt inclined to say, "It is impossible;
I am engaged with my pupils, and cannot give you any of my time," but a
glance into Florence's face showed her, as she vulgarly expressed it,
"the fat was in the fire," and she had better face the position at
once. Accordingly she said coolly, "I can give you two or three
minutes, although I cannot imagine what you want to say now. I shall
come to see you when it is all over. There is not the slightest doubt
that you will win the Scholarship, so rest assured on that head."
"If I thought for a moment there was a doubt do you think I would have
acted as I did?" said Florence; "but now that things have come to a
crisis I wonder if I greatly care. I----"
"Oh, nonsense, Florence, how would you stand the disgrace? and the
clergy school, you know--don't forget, Florence, what it means. Hold
up your head, pluck up your courage. What is it you want to say to me?"
"Something--but I must see you alone."
"Let us come along this corridor; there are a great many bedrooms: we
will open one on the chance of its being empty."
Bertha seized Florence's hand and began to fly down the corridor with
her. She knocked at a door, there was no reply, she opened it.
"There, it is unoccupied," she said; "we will stay here for a minute or
two. Come now, what is it?"
"It is this," said Florence; she turned and faced Bertha.
"Bertha Keys," she said, "my mother has told me, and I heard that of
you this morning which----"
"That of me, indeed," said Bertha, turning very pale; "what can you
have heard of me?"
"I have heard that which shows me your true character. My mother never
received those post-office orders. I gave you three sovereigns to
change into postoffice orders for my mother, and she--she never had
them; she never got any of my letters, she thought me cold, heartless,
unfeeling--she, my mother, the one I love best in the world. You, you
held back the letters, you kept the money--dare you deny it?"
"Oh, dear, what a fuss!" said Bertha. "But you can act just as you
please, Florence; you can go down and tell all about me. Of course,
having done so, my career will be ruined."
"What do you mean? What did you do?--speak, speak! Oh, this is
driving me mad!"
"Calm yourself, my dear, and stay quiet; I won't attempt to conceal the
truth from you. I took the money; I wanted it very badly. Whether I
wanted it more badly than your mother is a matter of not the smallest
importance to me. I wanted it, and I took it. Let that suffice."
"And what do you think I shall do; do you think I will submit to this
sort of thing?"
"You can please yourself. Of course, if you tell about me, I can tell
about you. Tit for tat--you quite understand."
"Oh, I quite understand," said Florence.
She sank down on the nearest chair, her face had turned quite grey.
Miss Keys regarded her for a moment silently, then she went up and laid
her hand on her shoulder.
"Come, Flo," she said, suddenly dropping on her knees by the unhappy
girl's side, "come, cheer up; don't look so miserable. You and I are
in the same boat and we must sink or swim together. If you support me
I'll support you. I can help you again and again, and think what I am
doing for you to-night."
"Oh, I hate myself, I hate myself! I don't think I can go through with
it," said Florence.
"Then what do you mean to do?"
"Tell Sir John all before he begins. It is Kitty's Scholarship--not
mine; and how--how am I to take it?"
"Now this is utter folly," said Bertha, seriously alarmed at last, for
if Florence were to develop a conscience, and a conscience of such a
sensitive order, at this hour, all would indeed be lost as far as she
was concerned.
"Come," she said, "think what it means. You love your mother; think of
her position if you lose; and it was only three pounds, and I
promise--there, I promise I'll save it out of my salary; you shall have
it back. Oh, don't tell on me; I shall be ruined for ever;
don't--don't--don't!"
Bertha clasped her hands, the tears rose to her eyes--a bell was heard
in the distance. It was the bell which was to summon the guests, the
girls of the school, and the three competitors to the great hall.
"There, I must be going," said Florence, "but I am miserable. My head
aches, I doubt if I can go through with this."
"You will feel quite different when you get downstairs," said Bertha,
"and now cheer up; only just remember one thing. If you fail me I will
fail you, and _vice versa_."
Florence did not dare to look back at Bertha; she left the room. There
was a noise in her ears and a swimming before her eyes.
Bertha stood for a moment, looking after her retreating form.
"I am almost sorry I did not tell her at the time," she said to
herself; "when she has accepted the Scholarship I shall be safe; but
she has had a shock. There is no saying what a girl of that
temperament may do under pressure; but there, I believe the excitement
will carry her through, and I don't believe for a moment she has the
moral courage to stand the public disgrace which would be hers if she
told now. Yes, she is in for it; she must go through with it."
Bertha patted her red hair and drew herself up to her full height, and
presently accompanied the pupils down to the great hall, where they
took their seats in the places allotted to them; excellent seats from
the point of view, for they could see every single thing and were
themselves to a certain extent in shadow.
The different guests had assembled, all beautifully dressed. Mrs.
Aylmer the great and Mrs. Aylmer the less found themselves side by
side. Mrs. Aylmer the great was in a magnificent robe of violet
brocade, open at the throat, displaying a quantity of rich lace. On
her head glittered diamonds, and her light eyes flashed as she glanced
from time to time at Mrs. Aylmer the less.
"Really," she said to herself, "the one drawback in adopting Florence
is that most unpleasant little woman. Where did she get that splendid
silk from? But what airs she does put on; how vulgar she is!"
Mrs. Aylmer the great did not look particularly happy. She was most
anxious to force herself into what she termed county society, and she
found up to the present that, although she was the owner of a
magnificent place like Aylmer Court, she was not taken much notice of
by those people who were, as she expressed it, really in the swim. It
was a great feather in her cap to be invited to Cherry Court Park, and
if Sir John would only favor her with a little attention she might get
more invitations in consequence.
If her niece was the lucky winner of the Scholarship all would
undoubtedly go well with Mrs. Aylmer. She would be the aunt,
practically the adopted mother, of the heroine, the girl on whom all
eyes were fixed, Sir John's special _protégée_, the Cherry Court School
Scholarship girl. She could talk about Florence and her great
abilities from time to time, and gently insinuate little hints with
regard to the girl's unfortunate position and her great kindness in
adopting her. Thus people would think her a most good-natured woman as
well as a very rich one, the aunt of a girl of undoubted genius--yes, a
great deal might follow in the train of such consequences.
Mrs. Aylmer the less on this occasion had many wild and exciting
thoughts with regard to Miss Pratt and the other neighbors at Dawlish,
also with regard to Sukey; but still, her thought above all other
thoughts was the consciousness that soon her beloved child would be
done honor to, and her eyes, silly enough in expression, were now so
full of love that many people thought her a good-natured and
pleasant-looking woman, and in reality gave her far kinder thoughts
than they did to Mrs. Aylmer the great, whose cold face would never
shine with any human feeling, and whose motives could be easily read by
the proud county folk.
As Florence slowly entered the room, accompanied by Kitty and Mary, a
little buzz of applause greeted the three graceful girls as, in their
Greek costumes, they glided slowly forward and took their places at the
little desks placed for them. Florence for one wild moment glanced at
her mother, and the love and longing and delight in the little Mummy's
face did more to reconcile her present evil plight than anything else.
"There," she whispered under her breath, "in for a penny, in for a
pound. I cannot break the heart of the little Mummy--I can't--I won't."
A peculiar expression stole round her lips, her eyes grew feverishly
bright, she looked handsome, and Mrs. Aylmer the great felt justly very
proud of her.
"She is tall, her figure is improving every day; she will be a very
good-looking girl by and by--what is more, a stylish one," thought Aunt
Susan.
But most of the guests scarcely looked at Florence, for their eyes were
attracted by the sweet expression, the inimitable grace of Kitty
Sharston.
Florence's cheeks were deeply flushed, her eyes so bright that they
looked dark as night; but Kitty, equally excited, her heart beating,
every nerve highly strung, only showed her excitement by a dewy look in
the great big grey eyes, and a wild-rose bloom on the delicate cheeks.
Mary's downright appearance did not attract comment one way or the
other. All three were pronounced nice-looking, ladylike girls, and now
the guests bent forward to listen to the _viva voce_ examination, which
immediately began.