Annie Forest sitting in the midst of a group of eager admirers, was
chatting volubly. Never had she been in higher spirits, never had her
pretty face looked more bright and daring.
Cecil Temple, coming into the play-room, started when she saw her.
Annie, however, instantly rose from the low hassock on which she had
perched herself and, running up to Cecil, put her hand through her arm.
"We are all discussing the mystery, darling," said she; "we have
discussed it, and literally torn it to shreds, and yet never got at the
kernel. We have guessed and guessed what your motive can be in
concealing the truth from Mrs Willis, and we all unanimously vote that
you are a dear old martyr, and that you have some admirable reason for
keeping back the truth. You cannot think what an excitement we are in--
even Susy Drummond has stayed awake to listen to our chatter. Now,
Cecil, do come and sit here in this most inviting little armchair, and
tell us what our dear head-mistress said to you in the chapel. It did
seem so awful to send you to the chapel, poor dear Cecil."
Cecil stood perfectly still and quiet while Annie was pouring out her
torrent of eager words; her eyes, indeed, did not quite meet her
companion's, but she allowed Annie to retain her clasp of her arm, and
she evidently listened with attention to her words. Now, however, when
Miss Forest tried to draw her into the midst of the eager and animated
group who sat round the play-room fire, she hesitated and looked
longingly in the direction of her peaceful little drawing-room. Her
hesitation, however, was but momentary. Quite silently she walked with
Annie down the large play-room and entered the group of girls.
"Here's your throne, Queen Cecil," said Annie trying to push her into
the little armchair; but Cecil would not seat herself.
"How nice that you have come, Cecil!" said Mary Pierce, a second-class
girl. "I really think, we all think, that you were very brave to stand
out against Mrs Willis as you did. Of course we are devoured with
curiosity to know what it means; aren't we, Flo?"
"Yes, we're in agonies," answered Flo Dunstan, another second-class
girl.
"You will tell exactly what Mrs Willis said, darling heroine?"
proceeded Annie in her most dulcet tones. "You concealed your
knowledge, didn't you? you were very firm, weren't you? dear, brave
love!"
"For my part, I think Cecil Temple the soul of brave firmness," here
interrupted Susan Drummond. "I fancy she's as hard and firm in herself
when she wants to conceal a thing as that rocky sweetmeat which always
hurts our teeth to get through. Yes, I do fancy that."
"Oh, Susy, what a horrid metaphor!" here interrupted several girls.
One, however, of the eager group of school-girls had not opened her lips
or said a word; that girl was Hester Thornton. She had been drawn into
the circle by an intense curiosity; but she had made no comment with
regard to Cecil's conduct. If she knew anything of the mystery she had
thrown no light on it. She had simply sat motionless, with watchful and
alert eyes and silent tongue. Now, for the first time, she spoke.
"I think, if you will allow her, that Cecil has got something to say,"
she remarked.
Cecil glanced down at her with a very brief look of gratitude.
"Thank you, Hester," she said. "I won't keep you a moment, girls. I
cannot offer to throw any light on the mystery which makes us all so
miserable to-day; but I think it right to undeceive you with regard to
myself. I have not concealed what I know from Mrs Willis. She is in
possession of all the facts, and what I found in my desk this morning is
now in her keeping. She has made me see that in concealing my knowledge
I was acting wrongly, and whatever pain has come to me in the matter,
she now knows all."
When Cecil had finished her sad little speech she walked straight out of
the group of girls, and, without glancing at one of them, went across
the play-room to her own compartment. She had failed to observe a quick
and startled glance from Susan Drummond's sleepy blue eyes, nor had she
heard her mutter--half to her companions, half to herself--"Cecil is not
like the rocky sweetmeat; I was mistaken in her."
Neither had Cecil seen the flash of almost triumph in Hester's eyes, nor
the defiant glance she threw at Miss Forest. Annie stood with her hands
clasped, and a little frown of perplexity between her brows, for a
moment; then she ran fearlessly down the play-room, and said in a low
voice at the other side of Cecil's curtains--
"May I come in?"
Cecil said "Yes," and Annie, entering the pretty little drawing-room,
flung her arms round Miss Temple's neck.
"Cecil," she exclaimed impulsively, "you're in great trouble. I am a
giddy, reckless thing, I know, but I don't laugh at people when they are
in real trouble. Won't you tell me all about it, Cecil?"
"I will, Annie. Sit down there and I will tell you everything. I think
you have a right to know, and I am glad you have come to me. I thought,
perhaps--but no matter. Annie, can't you guess what I am going to say?"
"No, I'm sure I can't," said Annie. "I saw for a moment or two to-day
that some of those absurd girls suspected me of being the author of all
this mischief. Now, you know, Cecil, I love a bit of fun beyond words.
If there's any going on I feel nearly mad until I am in it; but what was
done to-day was not at all in accordance with my ideas of fun. To tear
up Miss Russell's essay and fill her desk with stupid plum-cake and
Turkish delight seems to me but a sorry kind of jest. Now, if I had
been guilty of that sort of thing, I'd have managed something far
cleverer than that. If _I_ had tampered with Dora Russell's desk, I'd
have done the thing in style. The dear, sweet, dignified creature
should have shrieked in real terror. You don't know perhaps, Cecil,
that our admirable Dora is no end of a coward. I wonder what she would
have said if I had put a little nest of field-mice in her desk. I saw
that the poor thing suspected me, as she gave way to her usual little
sneer about the `underbred girl:' but, of course, _you_ know me, Cecil.
Why, my dear Cecil, what is the matter? How white you are, and you are
actually crying! What is it, Cecil? what is it, Cecil, darling?"
Cecil dried her eyes quickly.
"You know my pet copy of Mrs Browning's poems, don't you, Annie?"
"Oh, yes, of course. You lent it to me one day. Don't you remember how
you made me cry over that picture of little Alice, the over-worked
factory girl? What about the book, Cecil?"
"I found the book in my desk," said Cecil, in a steady tone, and now
fixing her eyes on Annie, who knelt by her side--"I found the book in my
desk, although I never keep it there; for it is quite against the rules
to keep our recreation books in our school-desks, and you know, Annie, I
always think it is so much easier to keep these little rules. They are
matters of duty and conscience after all. I found my copy of Mrs
Browning in my desk this morning with the cover torn off, and with a
very painful and ludicrous caricature of our dear Mrs Willis sketched
on the title-page."
"What?" said Annie. "No, no; impossible."
"You know nothing about it do you, Annie?"
"I never put it there, if that's what you mean," said Annie. But her
face had undergone a curious change. Her light and easy and laughing
manner had altered. When Cecil mentioned the caricature she flushed a
vivid crimson. Her flush had quickly died away, leaving her
olive-tinted face paler than its wont.
"I see," she said, after a long pause, "you, too, suspected me, Cecil,
and that is why you tried to conceal the thing. You know that I am the
only girl in the school who can draw caricatures, but did you suppose
that I would show _her_ dishonour? Of course things look ugly for me,
if this is what you found in your book; but I did not think that _you_
would suspect me, Cecil."
"I will believe you, Annie," said Cecil eagerly. "I long beyond words
to believe you. With all your faults, no one has ever yet found you out
in a lie. If you look at me, Annie, and tell me honestly that you know
nothing whatever about that caricature, I will believe you. Yes, I will
believe you fully, and I will go with you to Mrs Willis and tell her
that, whoever did the wrong, you are innocent in this matter. Say you
know nothing about it, dear, dear Annie, and take a load off my heart."
"I never put the caricature into your book, Cecil."
"And you know nothing about it?"
"I cannot say that; I never--never put it in your book."
"Oh, Annie, exclaimed poor Cecil, you are trying to deceive me. Why
won't you be brave? Oh, Annie, I never thought you would stoop to a
lie!"
"I'm telling no lie," answered Annie with sudden passion. "I do know
something about the caricature, but I never put it into that book.
There! you doubt me, you have ceased to believe me, and I won't waste
any more words on the matter."