Three Girls from School

“By the way – I was almost forgetting, and she begged of me so hard not to do so – but will you return her book to Susan Martin?” Annie’s face became crimson, then pale.

“Susan Martin?” she said. “Do you know her?”

“Of course I know her, Annie. What a queer colour you have turned! She has been making several things for me during the last few days. She is very much excited, poor girl, about a manuscript book of poems which you borrowed from her. She said you wanted them to show to a judge of poetry in order to help her to get them published. I had not an idea that the poor girl was a poet.”

“Oh, she is,” said Annie, who by this time had recovered her self-possession, and whom the very imminence of the danger rendered cool and self-possessed. “She writes quite wonderfully. I did borrow her book to show to Uncle Maurice; he is such a good judge.”

“Oh, was that all?” said Priscilla. “I thought from Susan’s manner that you knew some publisher. She thinks a great deal about her poems.”

“Yes, poor girl!” said Annie; “I must write to her.”

“Have you shown the poems to your uncle, Annie?”

“Not yet, Priscilla. Uncle Maurice has not been well; I could not worry him with those sort of matters.”

“Not well?” said Priscilla. “And you have left him?”

“Yes, my dear, good Priscilla,” said Annie; “I have been wicked enough to do so. He is too ill to be bothered with Susan Martin’s productions, but not too ill to afford me a pleasant little holiday. Now do let’s change the subject.”

“With pleasure,” said Priscilla. “I wish to change it, if you don’t mind, by shutting my eyes, for I have a very bad headache.”

While Priscilla slept, or tried to sleep, Annie sat back amongst her cushions lost in thought.

“Really,” she said to herself, “if all the things that I have done lately were discovered I should have but a poor time. I forgot all about Susan Martin and her manuscript book. It came in very handily at the time, but now it is no end of a bore. I ought to have cautioned her not to speak of it to any one. It is a great pity that Priscilla knows about it, for if by any chance she asks Susan to show her the book, the two poems attributed to Mabel will immediately be discovered. Certainly Priscilla is a disagreeable character, and I cannot imagine why I have bothered myself so much about her.”

The railway journey came to an end, and a short time afterwards the girls found themselves greeted by Lady Lushington and Mabel at the Grand Hotel.

Lady Lushington was a tall, slender woman of from thirty-eight to forty years of age. Her face was rather worn and pale. She had a beautiful figure, and was evidently a good deal made up. Her hair was of a fashionable shade of colour. Annie concluded at once that it was dyed. Priscilla, who had never heard of dyed hair, thought it very beautiful.

“My dears,” said the good lady, advancing to meet both girls, “I am delighted to see you. – Mabel, here are your two young friends. – Now, will you go at once with Parker to your rooms and get ready for dinner? We all dine in the restaurant – demi-toilette, you know. Afterwards we will sit in the courtyard and listen to the band.”

“I will come with you both,” said Mabel, who, dressed with extreme care and looking remarkably fresh and handsome, now took a hand of each of her friends. – “This is your room, Priscilla,” she said, and she ushered Priscilla into a small room which looked on to the courtyard. – “Parker,” she continued, turning to the maid, “will you see that Miss Weir has everything that she wants. – Now, Annie, I will attend to you. You don’t mind, do you? – for it is only for one night – but you have to share my room; the hotel is so full, Aunt Henrietta could not get a room for you alone. But I will promise to make myself as little obtrusive as possible.”

“Oh May!” said Annie, “I am just delighted to sleep in a room with you. I have so much to say – dear old May!” she added suddenly, turning and kissing her friend. “I am glad to see you again!”

“And I to see you, Annie,” replied Mabel. “I am having a glorious time, and want you to share it with me. Aunt Hennie has just been splendid, and has given me a completely new wardrobe – the most exquisite dresses, all bought and made at the best shops here, quite regardless of expense, too. I cannot tell you how much they have cost. How do you like this pink silk? Isn’t it sweet?”

“Yes, lovely,” said Annie, thinking with a sigh of her own poor clothes. But then she added, “Rich dresses suit you, Mabel, for you are made on a big and a bountiful scale. It is lucky for me that I can do with lees fine garments.”

“Oh, but I assure you, Annie, you are not going to be left out in the cold. You must have no scruples whatever in wearing the clothes that Aunt Hennie has got for you. She wants to take some young girls about with her, and she would not have you a frump for all the world; so there are a few pretty, fresh little toilettes put away in that box by Parker which I think will exactly fit you. There is a dress on that bed – oh, only white lace and muslin – which you are to wear this evening at the restaurant dinner; and there is a smart little travelling-costume for you to appear in to-morrow. You can leave them all behind you at the end of your jaunt, if you are too proud to take them; but, anyhow, while with us you have to wear them nolens volens.”

“Oh dear!” said Annie, almost skipping with rapture, “I am sure I am not a bit too proud.”

“We have got things for Priscie too,” said Mabel, “and I do hope she won’t turn up crusty; she is such a queer girl.”

“Why ever did you invite her, Mabel?” asked Annie.

“Why did I invite her?” said Mabel. “It was not my doing, you may be sure. Not that I dislike the poor old thing; far from that. She is quite a dear. But, of course, what I wanted was to have you to myself; but no – Aunt Hennie wouldn’t hear of it; she said that nothing would induce her to take two girls about with her. Her remark was that we should always be together, and that she would be de trop. Now she doesn’t mean to be de trop, so one of us is always to be with her, and the other two can enjoy themselves. She said at once, when I broached the subject of your joining us, that you might come with pleasure, and she would be only too delighted if another of our schoolfellows came as well. My dear, I argued and argued, but she was firm. So then I had to think of poor Priscilla, for really there was no one else to come; none of the others would dream of giving up their own friends and their own fun; and there was Priscilla landed at the school. So I told Aunt Hennie what she was like – grave and sedate, with grey eyes and a nice sort of face. I assured her that Priscie was a girl worth knowing, and Aunt Henrietta took a fancy to my description, told me to write off to her and to Mrs Lyttelton; and she wrote herself also; and, of course, Mrs Lyttelton jumped at it. So here we are, saddled with Priscie, and we must make the best of it. Dear Annie, do take off your hat and jacket, and get into your evening-dress; we shall be going down to dinner in a few minutes. I will help you with your hair if you need it, for I expect Parker is having a war of words with Priscilla. There’s such a sweet dress waiting for Priscie to wear – dove-coloured silk, made very simply. She will look like a Quakeress in it; it will suit her to perfection.”

Just at that moment a commotion was heard on the landing outside; a hurried knock came at the room door, and Priscilla, flushed, untidy, and wearing the same dress as she had travelled in, stood on the threshold. Behind Priscilla appeared the equally disturbed face and figure of Parker.

“Really, Miss Lushington,” began Parker, “I have done all I could – ”

“Your conduct is not justifiable,” interrupted Priscilla. “I am very sorry indeed, Mabel; you mean kindly, of course, but I cannot wear clothes that don’t belong to me. I would rather not have dinner, if you will excuse me. My head aches, and I should much prefer to go to bed.”

“Oh dear,” said Mabel, “what a fuss you make about nothing, Priscie! Why, the dress is all part of the play. Let us think of you as acting in a play while you are with Aunt Henrietta and me; if you take a part in it, you must dress to fit the part. Oh, put on your lovely grey silk – you will look perfectly sweet in it – and come down to dinner with Annie and me. See Annie; she is in her white muslin already, and looks a perfect darling.”

“I feel a perfect darling,” said Annie. “I love this dress. I adore fine clothes. I am not one little bit ashamed to wear it.”

“Well,” said Priscilla, “Annie can please herself; but if I have to wear other people’s clothes, or clothes that don’t belong to me and that I have no right whatever to accept, I shall have to give up this trip and go back to England to-morrow.”

“Oh dear!” said Mabel, “you are queer, Priscilla. I do wish – I do wish I could persuade you.”

“It is all useless, miss,” said Parker in an offended tone; “I have spoken to Miss Weir until I am tired, and she won’t see reason. – You see, miss,” continued Parker, “the dresses are bought, and if you don’t wear them they will be wasted. I understand proper pride, miss, but this does not seem to me reasonable, miss. You will forgive my saying so?”

“Yes, Parker, of course I forgive you,” said Priscilla; “but all the same,” she added, “I shall go on this expedition in my own clothes or I don’t go at all.”

“You will be a fright,” said Annie.

“I would rather be a fright and myself; I should not feel myself in other people’s clothes.”

“You are very silly,” said Mabel. “Can I do nothing?”

“I will talk to you afterwards, Priscilla,” said Annie. – “Let her alone now, May. She had a bad time crossing, and I dare say would rather go to bed. – You will look at all these things in a different light in the morning, Pris.”

“We shall have to be off fairly early in the morning,” said Mabel, “so you may as well go to bed if you are dead-tired, Priscie. – Parker, will you get some tea and anything else that Miss Weir may require, and have it brought to her room?”

“Thank you,” said Priscilla. She stood, tall, awkward, and ungracious, before the other two. They felt that she was so, and that there was something in her expression which made them both, deep down in their hearts, feel small. Annie could not help saying to herself, “I wouldn’t give up the chance of wearing pretty clothes;” and Mabel was thinking, “If only Priscilla were well dressed she would look handsomer than either of us.”

A minute later Priscilla turned to leave the room. “I am very sorry, girls,” she said. – “Perhaps, Mabel,” she added, “as you are leaving in the morning, I ought to see Lady Lushington now.”

“Oh, dear me!” said Mabel; “you will put Aunt Hennie out enormously if you worry her now.”

“Still, I think I ought. I am terribly sorry, but she ought to understand immediately my feelings in this matter.”

“Let her go; let her speak to your aunt,” whispered Annie.

“Very well,” said Mabel. “You will find Aunt Henrietta,” she continued, “waiting for us all in the drawing-room.”

Priscilla immediately left the room. She walked across the broad landing to the private sitting-room which Lady Lushington occupied in the hotel. The latter was standing by a window, when the door opened, and a tall, rather untidy girl dressed in dark-blue serge of no graceful cut, with her hair brushed back from her forehead and her face much agitated, appeared before that lady.

“I have something to say to you, Lady Lushington,” said Priscilla.

“You are Priscilla Weir?” said that lady. “There is a great difference between you and the little girl with the blue eyes. What is her name?”

“Annie Brooke.”

“You are very great friends, are you not?”