Three Girls from School

“It seems so,” said the gentleman; “but we can soon ascertain, my dear, by looking at the visitors’ list.”

“I shall be exceedingly pleased if she is,” said Mrs Ogilvie, for it was she. “I have not seen Henrietta Lushington for two or three years. She used to be a great friend of mine. But what in the world is she doing with that girl?”

“Why should not Henrietta Lushington have a girl belonging to her party?” was Mr Ogilvie’s response. “There is nothing the matter with that fact, is there, Susan?”

“Oh, nothing; and I know she has a niece, but somehow I never thought that the niece would look like that girl.”

“Why, what in the world is the matter with her? I thought her quite pretty.”

“Oh, my dear Henry! Pretty perhaps, but not classy; not for a moment the style of girl that Lady Lushington’s niece would be expected to be. And then her paying for her own tea – it seemed to me slightly bad form. However, perhaps the girl does not belong to our Lady Lushington at all.”

Meanwhile Annie was doing a little business on her own account in the great hall. She had got possession of the visitors’ book, and was scanning the names of the visitors with intense interest. Nowhere did she see the name Ogilvie, and in consequence a great load was lifted from her heart. She ran up in high spirits to Mabel’s room.

“No fear, May; no fear,” she said, skipping about as she spoke. “Mrs Ogilvie is not here at all; I have looked through the list.”

“Well, that’s a comfort,” said Mabel, who was lying on her bed half-asleep before Annie came in. “But what a restless spirit you are, Annie! Can you ever keep still for a minute? I was certain you were asleep in your room.”

“You could not sleep much yourself in my room, darling. It is a little hot and a little – dinnery. Not that I complain; but there is a magnificent hall downstairs, and such a terrace! And, do you know, I received a wee present of money a couple of mornings ago from darling Uncle Maurice, so I treated myself to some tea. I was thirsty. I had it all alone on a little table on the terrace. I can tell you I felt distinguished.”

“You poor dear!” said Mabel. “Why, of course you ought to have had tea when we had it. I will say this for you, Annie, that you are the queerest mixture I ever came across. You have – oh, you know the side to which I allude; but then, on the other hand, you are the most absolutely unselfish creature that ever lived. Why, even Parker has been enjoying delicious tea, and we never thought of you at all.”

“Poor little me!” said Annie. “Well, it doesn’t matter, for, you see, I thought of myself. Now I will leave you. Be sure you make an effective toilet to-night. There are really some very nice-looking people downstairs; we shall have a jolly time at this hotel. What a good thing it is we got rid of Priscie! She made us look so odd and peculiar.”

“I suppose the poor thing is bored to death at Hendon by this time,” said Mabel.

“Oh no, she is not quite there yet; she will have plenty of time to think of her conscience while she is at Hendon. And now you and I will forget her.”

Annie spent the next hour or two on the terrace – where she pretended to read – and looked at the different visitors as they came in and out of the hotel. She went up in good time to her bedroom, and Parker, who was always exceedingly particular with regard to the dress of both the young ladies, arrayed her on this occasion in a dress of the softest, palest, most becoming blue crêpe-de-Chine. This demi-toilet, with its elbow-sleeves and lace falling away from the young, round throat, was absolutely the most becoming garment Annie could possibly wear. It seemed to add to the blue of her blue eyes and to bring out the golden shades of her lovely hair.

She felt as she entered the great salle-à-manger that she was looked at very nearly as much as Lady Lushington and Mabel. They had a pleasant little dinner in one of the great bay windows, which commanded a glorious view of the Alps; and during dinner Lady Lushington was her most charming self, and continued to be exceedingly friendly to Annie.

It was not until the meal had nearly come to an end that a remark was made which caused both girls to feel slightly uncomfortable. Lady Lushington turned to Mabel.

“My dear Mabel,” she said, “I am really rather annoyed.”

“What about, auntie?”

“Oh, please don’t be annoyed this glorious evening,” interrupted Annie; “we are so happy and you are so sweet. I thought perhaps we might have coffee on the terrace; I know the very table where we can sit and we can watch the moon sailing up from behind that great mountain – I cannot possibly remember its name; I am not good at all at names.”

“We will have coffee on the terrace if I wish it, Annie Brooke. In the meantime I want to say what I have to say.”

No one knew better when she was snubbed than Annie. She immediately retired into her shell and looked very modest and pretty – something like a daisy when it droops its head.

“I have been asking Parker about the jewels,” continued Lady Lushington, turning to her niece, “and she assures me you did not give her the necklace to put away with the other things.” Mabel coloured.

Annie said at once, “Mabel dear, did you not put it into the tray of your trunk? You know I asked you to be sure to give it to Parker.”

“I was in such a hurry at the last minute, I had not time; but it is quite safe in my trunk,” said Mabel.

“Well, I hope it is,” said Lady Lushington; “but it is a foolish and dangerous thing to do; and, Annie, I thought you would see that Parker had the necklace. However, no matter now; you will give it, Mabel, to Parker to-night. It is not safe to have valuable jewels lying about in these hotels. You know that there is a notice in every room that the proprietors will not consider themselves liable if they are lost. No one can tamper with the jewel-case, however, when it is under Parker’s care.”

The girls murmured something, and the subject was dropped. They then all went out on the terrace. They had not been there more than a minute or two when a lady was seen to emerge from a shadowy corner and advance towards Lady Lushington. There was an affectionate interchange of greetings, and Annie whispered to Mabel to come away.

“How tiresome!” said Mabel. “When once Aunt Henrietta gets hold of an old friend she is good for nothing. Now she won’t take us anywhere and we shall be as dull as ditch-water.”

“Oh, nonsense, Mabel! We will make friends on our own account. What a good thing the friend is not Mrs Ogilvie!”

“How can you tell that she isn’t?” said Mabel. “Why, of course she isn’t; Mrs Ogilvie’s name is not on the visitors’ list.”

The girls paced up and down.

“I got a great fright at dinner,” said Mabel after a pause; “but you helped me out of it as usual.”

“Yes; but it was an awkward moment,” said Annie. “I didn’t for a moment suppose that your aunt would keep on thinking of that necklace. I hope she won’t insist on seeing it. I am afraid, after all, even though Mrs Ogilvie is not here, we must manage to lose it.”

“Oh! I shall go wild if I have to go through that sort of thing,” was Mabel’s answer.

“Besides,” continued Annie, “the friend your aunt met may be another of those women who adore looking at bargains and old-fashioned gems. I am certain we shall have to lose it; there is no other possible way out.”

“And I know I shall die in the process,” said Mabel. “I feel myself quite wasting away.”

“You are too silly,” said Annie. “You look as bonny as ever you can look, and there isn’t a scrap of any appearance of decline about you.”

It was at that moment that Lady Lushington’s voice was heard calling in the darkness, “Mabel, come here!”

“Now what does she want?” said Mabel.

“Come with me, for goodness’ sake, Annie! I can’t walk a single step of this tortuous way without your help.”

“Really, Mabel,” said Annie, “you are using quite a poetic expression. Your character of a poetess will be established, my dear, if you continue to speak in that vein.”

“Mabel!” said her aunt.

“I will help you through your tortuous way,” laughed Annie; and the girls advanced arm-in-arm.

“Mabel,” said Lady Lushington, “I have the pleasure of introducing you to my dear friend Mrs Ogilvie.”

Poor Mabel gave a start; but for Annie’s supporting arm, big as she was, she might have fallen.

The terrace was lighted with Japanese lanterns, which swayed slightly in the faint breeze. These cast lights here and there, and immense shadows in other directions. Annie and Mabel had now got into the light. Lady Lushington moved a step or two, bringing Mrs Ogilvie forward as she did so, and the four figures were all distinctly visible.

“Which of these girls is your niece, my dear Henrietta?” said Mrs Ogilvie.

“This is my niece, Susan,” was Lady Lushington’s response; and Mabel felt her hand clasped by a kindly but firm palm. She looked into the eyes of a tall woman with a pleasant expression of face, who was becomingly dressed in black lace.

This lady had hair turning grey, and a face which did not show the slightest trace of being made up. She might have been fifty years of age.

“I must also introduce you,” said Lady Lushington, “to our little friend Miss Brooke. Miss Brooke: Mrs Ogilvie.”