The School Queens

Merry had as little idea how far ten pounds would go toward the expenses of a visit to the seaside as she had of what real poverty meant. But it occurred to her as a delightful way of assuring Maggie of her friendship to present Maggie with her quarter’s pocket-money.

On their way home that evening, therefore, she was only too glad to find herself by her father’s side.

“Well, little girl,” he said, “so you’re forsaking all your young companions and wish to sit close to the old dad?”

The old dad, it may be mentioned, was driving home in a mail-phaeton from the picnic, and Merry found herself perched high up beside him as he held the reins and guided a pair of thoroughbred horses.

“Well, what is it, little girl?” he said.

“I wonder, father, if you’d be most frightfully kind?”

“What!” he answered, just glancing at her; “that means that you are discontented again. What more can I do for you, Merry?”

“If I might only have my pocket-money to-night.”

“You extravagant child! Your pocket-money! It isn’t due for a week.”

“But I do want it very specially. Will you advance it to me just this once, dad?”

“I am not to know why you want it?”

“No, dad darling, you are not to know.”

Mr. Cardew considered for a minute.

“I hope you are not going to be a really extravagant woman, Merry,” he said. “To tell the truth, I hate extravagance, although I equally hate stinginess. You will have no lack of money, child, but money is a great and wonderful gift and ought to be used to the best of best advantages. It ought never to be wasted, for there are so many people who haven’t half enough, and those who are rich, my child, ought to help those who are not rich.”

“Yes, darling father,” said Merry; “and that is what I should so awfully like to do.”

“Well, I think you have the root of the matter in you,” said Mr. Cardew, “and I, for one, am the last person to pry on my child. Does Cicely also want her money in advance?”

“Oh no, no! I want it for a very special reason.”

“Very well, my little girl. Come to me in the study to-night before you go to bed, and you shall have your money.”

“In sovereigns, please, father?”

“Yes, child, in sovereigns.”

“Thank you ever so much, darling.”

During the rest of the drive there was no girl happier than Merry Cardew. Mr. Cardew looked at her once or twice, and wondered what all this meant. But he was not going to question her.

When they got home he took her away to his study, and, opening a drawer, took out ten sovereigns.

“I may as well tell you,” he said as he put them into her hand, “that when you go to school I shall raise your pocket-money allowance to fifteen pounds a quarter. That is quite as large a sum as a girl of your age ought to have in the year. I do this because I well understand that at Mrs. Ward’s school there will be special opportunities for you to act in a philanthropic manner.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, father!” said Merry.

CHAPTER XII.

SHEPHERD’S BUSH

While Merry was in a state of high rejoicing at this simple means of helping her friend, Maggie Howland herself was not having quite such a good time. She had been much relieved by her conversation with Merry, but shortly after the picnic-tea Aneta had come up to her.

“Would you like to walk with me,” said Aneta, “as far as the giant oak? It isn’t a great distance from here, and I’ll not keep you long.”

“Certainly I will come with you, Aneta,” said Maggie; but she felt uncomfortable, and wondered what it meant.

The two girls set off together. They made a contrast which must have been discernible to the eyes of all those who saw them: Aneta the very essence of elegance; Maggie spotlessly neat, but, compared to her companion, downright plain. Aneta was tall and slim; Maggie was short. Nevertheless, her figure was her good point, and she made the most of it by having perfectly fitting clothes. This very fact, however, took somewhat from her appearance, and gave her the look of a grown-up girl, whereas she was still only a child.

As soon as ever the girls got out of earshot, Aneta turned to Maggie and said gravely, “My cousins the Cardews are to join us all at Aylmer House in September.”

Maggie longed to say, “Thank you for nothing,” but she never dared to show rudeness to Aneta. No one had ever been rude to the stately young lady.

“Yes,” she said. Then she added, “I am so glad! Aren’t you?”

“For some reasons I am very glad,” said Aneta.

“But surely for all, aren’t you?”

“Not for all,” replied Aneta.

How Maggie longed to give her companion a fierce push, or otherwise show how she detested her!

“I will tell you why I regret it,” said Aneta, turning her calm, beautiful eyes upon Maggie’s face.

“Thank you,” said Maggie.

“I regret it, Maggie Howland, because you are at the school.”

“How very polite!” said Maggie, turning crimson.

“It is not polite,” said Aneta, “and I am sorry that I have to speak as I do; but it is necessary. We needn’t go into particulars; but I have something to say to you, and please understand that what I say I mean. You know that when first you came to the school I was as anxious as any one else to be kind to you, to help you, to be good to you. You know the reason why I changed my mind. You know what you did. You know that were Mrs. Ward to have the slightest inkling of what really occurred you would not remain another hour at Aylmer House. I haven’t told any one what I know; but if you, Maggie, tamper with Cicely and Merry Cardew, who are my cousins and dear friends – if you win them over to what you are pleased to call your side of the school – I shall consider it my duty to tell Mrs. Ward what I have hitherto kept back from her.”

Maggie was trembling very violently.

“You could not be so cruel,” she said after a pause.

“I have long thought,” continued Aneta, speaking in her calm, gentle voice, “that I did wrong at the time to keep silent; but you got my promise, and I kept it.”

“Yes, yes,” said Maggie, “I got your promise; you wouldn’t dare to break it?”

“You are mistaken,” said Aneta. “If the circumstances to which I have just alluded should arise I would break that promise. Now you understand?”

“I think you are the meanest, the cruellest – I think you are–There, I hate you!” said Maggie.

“You have no reason to. I will not interfere with you if you, on your part, leave those I love alone. Cicely and Merry are coming to the school because I am there, because my aunt recommends the school, because it is a good school. Leave off doing wrong, and join us, Maggie, in what is noble and high; but continue your present course at your peril. You would do anything for power; you go too far. You have influenced one or two girls adversely already. I am convinced that Mrs. Ward does not trust you. If you interfere with Cicely or Merry, Mrs. Ward will have good reason to dislike you, for I myself shall open her eyes.”