The School Queens

The girl withdrew, and Cardew sank into a low chair.

He had to wait a few minutes, and during that time had abundant leisure to look round the beautiful room in which he found himself. It was so furnished as to resemble a fresh country room. The wall-paper was white; the pictures were all water-colors, all original, and all the works of well-known artists. They mostly represented country scenes, but there were a few admirable portraits of charming girls just in the heyday of youth and happiness. The floor was of polished oak and had a large pale-blue drugget in the center, which could be rolled up at any moment if an impromptu dance was desirable. The large windows had boxes of flowers outside, which were fresh and well kept, and had evidently been recently watered, for some sparkling drops which looked almost like summer rain still glistened on them. The room itself was also decked with flowers in every available corner, and all these flowers were fresh and beautifully arranged. They were country flowers – and of course roses, roses everywhere. There were also great bowls of mignonette and large glass vases filled with sweet peas.

The air of the room was fresh and full of delicate perfume. Mr. Cardew had to admit to himself that this was a room in which the most refined young ladies in the world might sit with pleasure and profit. There was a shelf for books running round the dado, and the books therein were good of their kind and richly and handsomely bound. There were no small tables anywhere. Mr. Cardew was glad of that – he detested small tables; but there was a harp standing close to the magnificent grand piano, and several music stands, and a violin case on a chair near by.

The furniture of the room was covered with a cool, fresh chintz. In short, it was a charming room, quite different from the rooms at Meredith Manor, which, of course, were old and magnificent and stately; but it had a refreshing, wholesome look about it which, in spite of himself, Mr. Cardew appreciated.

He had just taken in the room and its belongings when the door was opened and a lady of about thirty-five years of age entered. She was dressed very simply in a long dress made in a sort of Empire fashion. The color was pale blue, which suited her calm, fair face, her large, hazel-brown eyes, and her rich chestnut hair to perfection. She came forward swiftly.

“I am Mrs. Ward,” she said, and held out her hand.

Mr. Cardew considered himself a connoisseur as regards all women, and he was immediately impressed by a certain quality in that face: a mingling of sweetness and power, of extreme gentleness and extreme determination. There was a lofty expression in the eyes, too, and round the mouth, which further appealed to him; and the hands of the lady were perfect – they were white, somewhat long, with tapering fingers and well-kept nails. There was one signet ring on the left hand, worn as a guard to the wedding-ring – that was all.

Mr. Cardew was a keen observer, and he noted these things at a glance.

“I have come to talk to you, Mrs. Ward,” he said; “and, if you will forgive me, I should like to be quite frank with you.”

“There is nothing I desire better,” said Mrs. Ward in her exceedingly high-bred and sympathetic voice.

That voice reminded Cardew of Maggie Howland, and yet he felt at once that it was infinitely superior to hers.

“Sit down, won’t you, Mr. Cardew?” said Mrs. Ward, and she set him the example by seating herself in a low chair as she spoke.

“I hope I am not taking up too much of your time,” he said; “for, if so, as I said to your servant, I can call again.”

“By no means,” said Mrs. Ward; “I have nothing whatever to do this morning. I am, therefore, quite at your service. You will tell me what you wish?” she said in that magnetic voice of hers.

“The fact is simply this,” he said. “My friend Tristram, who is rector of Meredith, in Warwickshire, is sending his two daughters to your school.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Ward gently. “Molly and Isabel are coming to me next term.”

“I am Tristram’s near neighbor,” said Mr. Cardew, “I live at Meredith Manor. At the present moment the Tristram girls have another pupil of yours staying with them – Miss Howland.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Ward very quietly.

“Lady Lysle’s niece Aneta is also one of your pupils.”

“That is true, Mr. Cardew.”

“Lady Lysle is my wife’s cousin.”

Mrs. Ward bowed very slightly.

“I will come to the point now, Mrs. Ward. I am the father of two little girls. They are of the same age as Molly and Isabel Tristram; that is, they are both just sixteen. They are twins. They are my only children. Some day they will be rich, for we have no son, and they will inherit considerable property.” Mrs. Ward looked scarcely interested at this. “Hitherto,” continued Mr. Cardew, “I have stoutly opposed school-life for my children, and in consequence they have been brought up at home, and have had the best advantages that could be obtained for them in a country life. Things went apparently all right until two or three days ago, when I discovered that my girl – her name is Meredith; we call her Merry for short – was exceedingly anxious to change her home-life for school-life. At the same time, our excellent daily governess and the music-master who taught the children have been obliged to discontinue their work. The girls are at an age when education is essential; and, although I hate schools, I have come here to talk over the possibility of your receiving them.”

“Had you delayed coming to me, Mr. Cardew, until this evening I should have had no vacancy, for at the present moment I have twelve applications for the two vacancies which are to be filled at Aylmer House. But do you really wish me to consider the proposal of taking your girls when you hate school-life for young ladies?”

Mr. Cardew could not help smiling. “Then you are not anxious to have them?”

“Certainly not, unless you yourself and Mrs. Cardew most earnestly desire to send them to me. Suppose, before we go any further, that I take you over the house.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Cardew in a tone of relief.

Mrs. Ward rose immediately, and for the next hour the head-mistress and the owner of Meredith Manor went from one dainty room to another. They visited the gymnasium; they entered the studio. All the different properties of the music-room were explained to the interested visitor. The excellent playground was also inspected.

By-and-by, when Mr. Cardew returned to the drawing-room, Mrs. Ward said, “My number of pupils is limited. You have seen for yourself that sisters are provided with a room together, and that girls who are not related have rooms to themselves. The house is well warmed in winter, and at all seasons of the year I keep it bright and cheerful with flowers and everything that a judicious expenditure of money can secure. I have my own special plan for educating my girls. I believe in personal influence. In short, Mr. Cardew, I am not at all ashamed to tell you that I believe in my own influence. I have never yet met a girl whom I could not influence.”

“If by any chance my Cicely and Merry come to you,” said Mr. Cardew, “you will find them – I may at least say it – perfect ladies in word and thought and deed.”

Mrs. Ward bowed. “I could receive no others within this establishment,” she said. “If,” continued Mrs. Ward, “you decide to entrust your daughters to me, I will leave no stone unturned to do my best for them, to educate them in a three-fold capacity: to induce their minds to work as God meant them to work – without overtoil, without undue haste, and yet with intelligence and activity; to give them such exercises as will promote health to their bodies; and to teach them, above all things, to live for others, not for themselves. Please, Mr. Cardew, give me no answer now, but think it over. The vacancies at Aylmer House will remain at your disposal until four o’clock this afternoon. Will you send me before that hour a telegram saying ‘Yes’ or ‘No’?”

“I thank you,” said Mr. Cardew. He wrung Mrs. Ward’s hand and left the house.

The hall was as spacious and nearly as beautiful as the drawing-room, and the pretty, bright parlor-maid smiled at the gentleman as he went out. Mrs. Ward remained for a time alone after her visitor had left.

“I should like to have those girls,” she said to herself. “Any girls related to such a splendid, lofty character as Aneta could not but be welcome to me. Their poor father, he will feel parting with them; but I have no doubt that I shall receive them next September at this house.”

The thought had scarcely passed through her mind before there came a brisk ring at the front door, and Lady Lysle and Aneta were announced.

“Oh, dear Mrs. Ward!” said Lady Lysle, speaking in her quick, impulsive manner, “have you seen my dear friend and cousin, Mr. Cardew?”

“And are the girls coming to the school?” asked Aneta.

“I have seen Mr. Cardew,” said Mrs. Ward. “He is a very charming man. He will decide whether he will send his daughters here or not during the course of to-day.”

“But,” said Lady Lysle, “didn’t you urge him?”

“No, dear friend; I never urge any one to put a girl in my care. I should feel myself very wrong in doing so. If Mr. Cardew thinks well of what he has seen here he may send his daughters to me, but I certainly did nothing to urge him.”

“Oh dear!” said Aneta, “I should so like them to come. You can’t think, Mrs. Ward, what nice people the Cardews are; and the girls – they do want school-life. Don’t they, auntie darling?”

“Such a school as this would do them a world of good,” said Lady Lysle.

“Well, I really hope they will come,” said Mrs. Ward; “but I quite understand their father’s objections. They are evidently very precious treasures, and he has the sort of objection which exists in the minds of many country gentlemen to sending his girls to school.”

“Ah,” said Aneta, “but there are schools and schools!”

“The girls will be exceedingly rich,” said Lady Lysle. “Their mother was a Meredith and belonged to an old county family. She inherits vast wealth and the old family place. Their father is what may be termed a merchant-prince. By-and-by all the money of the parents will go to these girls. They are very nice children, but know nothing whatever of the world. It seems to me a cruel thing that they should be brought up with no knowledge of the great world where they must eventually live.”

“I hope they will come here,” said Mrs. Ward. “Great wealth means great responsibility. They can make magnificent use of their money. I should be interested to have them.”

“I know you would, my dear friend,” said Lady Lysle, “and they are really quite sweet girls. Now, come, Aneta; we must not keep Mrs. Ward any longer.”

When her visitors had left her Mrs. Ward still remained in the pleasant drawing-room. She sank into a low chair, folded her hands in her lap, and remained very still. Although she was only thirty-five years of age, she had been a widow for over ten years. She had married when quite a young girl, and had lost her husband and child before she was five-and-twenty. It was in her generous and noble nature to love most passionately and all too well. For a time after her terrible trouble she scarcely know how to bear her grief. Then she took it to the one place where such sorrow can be borne – namely, to the foot of the throne of God; and afterwards it occurred to her to devote her life to the education of others. She was quite well-off, and did not need to work for her living. But work, to a nature such as hers, was essential. She also needed the sympathy of others, and the love of others; and so, aided by her friends, her small but most select school in South Kensington was started.

From the very first it was a success. It was unlike many other schools, for the head-mistress had broader and nobler views of life. She loved all her girls, and they all loved her; but it was impossible for her not to like some girls more than others, and of all the girls at present at her school Aneta Lysle was the one she really loved best. There was also, it is sad to relate, a girl there whom she did not love, and that girl was Maggie Howland. There was nothing whatever with regard to Maggie that her mistress could lay hold of. She was quite aware of the girl’s fascination, and of her powerful influence over her schoolfellows. Nevertheless, she never thought of her without a sense of discomfort.

Maggie was one of the girls who were educated at Aylmer House for a very low fee; for Mrs. Ward was quite rich enough and generous enough to take girls who could not afford her full terms for very much less. Maggie’s fees, therefore, were almost nominal, and no one knew this fact better than Maggie herself and her mother, Mrs. Howland. None of her schoolfellows knew, for she learned just what they did, and had precisely the same advantages. She was treated just like the others. No one could guess that her circumstances were different. And certainly Maggie would never tell, but none the less did she in her heart hate her position.