Betty Vivian Part 26

"Of course not."

"Well, sit down and talk to me. Now, I have something to say to you. Do you know that I am devoured with curiosity, and all about a small girl like yourself?"

"Oh f.a.n.n.y," said Sibyl, immensely flattered, "I am glad you take an interest in me!"

"I must be frank," said f.a.n.n.y. "Up to the present I have taken no special interest in you, except in so far as you are Martha's protege; but when I saw you in that extraordinary dress last night I singled you out at once as a girl with original ideas. Do look me in the face, Sib!"

Sibyl turned. f.a.n.n.y's face was exquisitely chiselled. Each neat little feature was perfect. Her eyes were large and well-shaped, her brows delicately marked, her complexion pure lilies and roses; her hair was thick and smooth, and yet there were little ripples about it which gave it, even in its schoolgirl form, a look of distinction. Sibyl, on the contrary, was an undersized girl, with the fair, colorless face, pale-blue eyes, the lack of eyebrows and eyelashes, the hair thin and small in quant.i.ty, which make the most hopeless type of all as regards good looks.

"I wonder, Sib," said f.a.n.n.y, "if you, you little mite, are really eaten up with vanity?"

"I--vain! Why should you say so?"

"I only thought it from your peculiar dress last night."

Sibyl colored and spoke eagerly. "Oh, but that wasn't me at all; it was that quite too darling Betty!"

"Do you mean my cousin, Betty Vivian?"

"Of course, who else?"

"Well, what had she to do with it?"

"I will tell you if you like, f.a.n.n.y. She didn't expect me to keep it a secret. I met her when I was out----"

"You--met Betty--when you were out?"

"Yes." There was a kind of reserve in Sibyl's tone which made f.a.n.n.y scent a possible mystery.

"Where did you meet her?" was the next inquiry.

"Well, she was standing by the stump of an old tree which is hollow inside. It is just at the top of the hill by the bend, exactly where the hill goes down towards the 'forest primeval.'"

"Can't say I remember it," said f.a.n.n.y. "Go on, Sib. So Betty was standing there?"

"Yes, oh yes. I saw her in the distance. I was expecting to meet Clarice and Mary Moss; but they failed me, although they had faithfully promised to come. So when I saw Betty I could not resist running up to her; but when I got quite close I stood still."

"Well, you stood still. Why?"

"Oh Fan, she was doing such a funny thing! She was bending down and looking over into the hollow of the tree. Then, all of a sudden, she thrust her hand in--far down--and took something out of the tree and looked at it. I could just catch sight of what it was----"

"Yes, go on. What was it? Don't be afraid of me, Sib. I have a lot of chocolates in my pocket that I will give you presently."

"Oh thank you, f.a.n.n.y! It is nice to talk to you. I couldn't see very distinctly what she had in her hand, only she was staring at it, and staring at it; and then she dropped it in again, right down into the depths of the tree; and I saw her bending more than ever, as though she were covering it up."

"But you surely saw what it was like?"

"It might have been anything--I wasn't very near then. I ran up to her, and asked her what it was."

"And what did she say?"

"Oh, she said it was a piece of wood, and that she had dropped it into the tree."

f.a.n.n.y sat very still. A coldness came over her. She was nearly stunned with what she considered the horror of Betty's conduct.

"What is the matter?" asked Sibyl.

"Nothing at all, Sib; nothing at all. And then, what happened?"

"Betty was very cross at being disturbed."

"That is quite probable," said f.a.n.n.y with a laugh.

"She certainly was, and I--I--I am afraid I annoyed her; but after a minute or two she got up and allowed me to walk with her. We walked towards the house, and she told me all kinds of funny stories; she really made me scream with laughter. She is the jolliest girl! Then, all of a sudden, we came in sight of the flower-gardens; and she asked me what I was going to wear last night, and I told her about the green chiffon dress which auntie had sent me; and then she suggested a wreath of small marguerites, and told me to get Birchall to cut some for me.

She said they would be very becoming, and of course I believed her.

There's nothing in my story, is there, f.a.n.n.y?"

"That depends on the point of view," answered f.a.n.n.y.

"I don't understand you."

"Nor do I mean you to, kiddy."

"Well, there's one thing more," continued Sibyl, who felt much elated at being allowed to talk to one of the most supercilious of all the Specialities. "I couldn't get out of my head about Betty and the oak-tree; so just now--a few minutes ago--I got some of my friends to come with me, and we went to the oak-tree, and I stood on Mabel Lee's shoulder, and I poked and poked amongst the debris and rubbish in the hollow of the trunk, and there was nothing there at all--nothing except just a piece of wood. So, of course, Betty spoke the truth--it was wood."

"How many chocolates would you like?" was f.a.n.n.y's rejoinder.

"Oh f.a.n.n.y, are you going to give me some?"

"Yes, if you are a good girl, and don't tell any one that you repeated this very harmless and uninteresting little story to me about my Cousin Betty. Of course she is my cousin, and I don't like anything said against her."

"But I wasn't speaking against darling Betty!" Sibyl's eyes filled with tears.

"Of course not, monkey; but you were telling me a little tale which might be construed in different ways."

"Yes, yes; only I don't understand. Betty had a perfect right to poke her hand into the hollow of the tree, and to bring up a piece of wood, and look at it, and put it back again; and I don't understand your expression, f.a.n.n.y, that it all depends on the point of view."

"Keep this to yourself, and I will give you some more chocolates sometime," was f.a.n.n.y's answer. "I can be your friend as well as Martha--that is, if you are nice, and don't repeat every single thing you hear. The worst sin in a schoolgirl--at least, the worst minor sin--is to be breaking confidences. No schoolgirl with a shade of honor in her composition would ever do that, and certainly no girl trained at Haddo Court ought to be noted for such a characteristic. Now, Sibyl, you are no fool; and, when I talk to you, you are not to repeat things. I may possibly want to talk to you again, and then there'll be more chocolates and--and--other things; and as you are in the upper school, and are really quite a nice girl, I shouldn't be at all surprised if I invited you to have tea with me in my bedroom some night--oh, not quite yet, but some evening not far off. Now, off with you, and let me see how well you can keep an innocent little confidence between you and me!"

Sibyl ran off, munching her chocolates, wondering a good deal at f.a.n.n.y's manner, but in the excitement of her school-life, soon forgetting both her and Betty Vivian. For, after all, there was no story worth thinking about. There was nothing in the hollow of the old tree but the piece of wood, and nothing--nothing in the wide world--could be made interesting out of that.

Meanwhile, f.a.n.n.y thought for a time. The first great entertainment of the Specialities was over. Betty was now a full-blown member, and as such must be treated in a manner which f.a.n.n.y could not possibly have a.s.sumed towards her before this event took place. f.a.n.n.y blamed herself for her weakness in consenting to keep Betty's secret. She had done so on the spur of the moment, influenced by the curious look in the girl's eyes, and wondering if she would turn to her with affection if she, f.a.n.n.y, were so magnanimous. But Betty had not turned to her with either love or affection. Betty was precisely the Betty she had been before she joined the club. It is true she was very much sought after and consulted on all sorts of matters, and her name was whispered in varying notes of admiration among the girls, and she was likely (unless a spoke were put in her wheel) to rise to one of the highest positions in the great school. Betty had committed one act of flagrant wickedness. f.a.n.n.y was not going to mince matters; she could not call it by any other name.

There were no extenuating circ.u.mstances, in her opinion, to excuse this act of Betty's. The fact that she had first stolen the packet, and then told Sir John Crawford a direct lie with regard to it, was the sort of thing that f.a.n.n.y could never get over.

"One act of wickedness leads to another," thought f.a.n.n.y. "Contrary to my advice, my beseechings, she has joined our club. She has taken a vow which she cannot by any possibility keep, which she breaks every hour of every day; for she holds a secret which, according to Rule No. I., the other Specialities ought to know. What was she doing by the old stump?

What did she take out and look at so earnestly? It was not a piece of wood. That idea is sheer nonsense."

f.a.n.n.y thought and thought, and the more she thought the more uncomfortable did she grow. "It is perfectly horrible!" she kept saying to herself. "I loathe myself for even thinking about it, but I am afraid I must put a spoke in her wheel. The whole school may be contaminated at this rate. If Betty could do what she did she may do worse, and there isn't a girl in the place who isn't prepared to worship her. Oh, of course I'm not jealous; why should I be? I should be a very unworthy member of the Specialities if I were. Nevertheless----"