The School Queens

“Well, sit down, won’t you?” said Maggie.

Aneta availed herself of the invitation, and took a chair.

Maggie remained standing.

“Won’t you sit too, Maggie?” said Aneta.

“I don’t particularly want to, but I will if you insist on it. To tell the truth, I am a little sleepy. You won’t keep me long, will you?”

“That depends on yourself.”

Maggie opened her narrow eyes. Then she contracted them and looked fixedly at her companion. “Have you come here to talk about Merry Cardew?”

“Yes, about her, and other matters.”

“Don’t you trust me at all, Aneta?”

Aneta looked full up at the girl. “No, Maggie,” she said.

“Do you think when you say so that you speak kindly?”

“I am afraid I don’t, but I can’t help myself,” said Aneta.

Maggie gave a faint yawn. She was, in reality, far too interested to be really sleepy. Suddenly she dropped into a sitting position on the floor. “You have me,” she said, “in the hollow of your hand. Do you mean to crush me? What have I done that you should hate me so much?”

“I never said I hated you,” said Aneta. “I don’t hate you, but I am exceedingly anxious that you should not have any influence over my two young cousins who came here to-day.”

“I thought we discussed that when you were staying at Meredith Manor,” said Maggie. “You made me unhappy enough then, but I gave you my promise.”

“I was sorry to make you unhappy, Maggie; and you did give me your promise; but I have come here to-day to know why you have broken it.”

“Broken it!” said Maggie. “Broken it!”

“Don’t you understand me?” said Aneta. “You and Merry were together the greater part of the evening, and even Cicely wondered where her sister was. Why did you do it?”

“Merry is my friend,” said Maggie.

“I don’t wish her to be your friend.”

“I am afraid you can’t help it,” said Maggie. She looked a little insolent, and round her mouth there came a dogged expression. After a minute she said, “I did want to talk to Merry to-night; but, at the same time, I most undoubtedly did not forget my promise to you. I explained to Merry what I think she already knew: that there were two girls in the school who greatly influence their fellows; in short, that you and I are the two queens of the school. But I said that, compared to you, I had a comparatively small number of subjects. Merry was interested, and asked questions, and then I most particularly explained to her that, although I knew well she cared for me, and I cared for her, she was to be on your side in the school. If you don’t believe me, you have but to ask Merry herself.”

“I have no reason not to believe you, Maggie,” said Aneta, “and I am relieved that you have spoken as you did to Merry. But now I want to say something else. I have thought of it a good deal during the holidays, and I am firmly convinced that this taking sides, or rather making parties, in a school is pernicious, especially in such a small school as ours. I am willing to give up my queendom, if you, on your part, will give yours up. I want us all to be in unity – every one of us – all striving for the good of the school and for the happiness and welfare each of the other. If you will agree to this I will myself speak to Mrs. Ward to-morrow.”

“Mrs. Ward!” said Maggie. “What has she to do with it?”

“I want to consult with her, so that she may be the queen of the school – not one girl or two girls. She is so clever, so young, so resourceful, that she will more than make up to us for the little we lose in this matter. But, of course, there is no manner of use in my resigning my queendom if you won’t resign yours.”

“I will never do it,” said Maggie – “never! Two queens in the school means little or nothing at all. All it does mean is that I have special friends whom I can influence, and whom I love to influence, and you have special friends whom you love to influence. Well, go on influencing them as hard as ever you can, and I will do the same with my friends. Your cousins will belong to you. I could, I believe, have won Merry Cardew to my side, but I am not going to do so.”

“It would be very unwise of you,” said Aneta in a low tone. “Very well, Maggie,” she added after a pause, “if you won’t give up being queen in the minds of a certain number of girls, I must, of course, continue my influence on the other side. It’s a great pity, for we might all work together.”

“We never could work together,” said Maggie with passion. “It is but to talk to you, Aneta, to know how you despise and hate me.”

“I neither despise nor hate you, Maggie.”

“Well, I despise and hate you, so I suppose it comes to the same thing.”

“I am very, very sorry, Maggie. Some day, perhaps, you will know me as I really am.”

“I know you now as you really are – eaten up with pride of birth, and with no sympathy at all for girls a trifle poorer than yourself.”

“You speak with cruelty, and I am sorry.”

To Aneta’s astonishment, Maggie’s face underwent a queer change. It puckered up in an alarming manner, and the next moment the girl burst into tears.

The sight of Maggie’s tears immediately changed Aneta Lysle’s attitude. Those tears were genuine. Whether they were caused by anger or by sorrow she did not stop to discriminate. The next minute she was down on her knees by the other girl and had swept her young arms round Maggie’s neck.

“Maggie, Maggie, what is it? Oh, if you would only understand me!”

“Don’t! – don’t touch me!” said Maggie. “I am a miserable girl!”

“And I have hurt you, poor Maggie!” said Aneta. “Oh, I am terribly sorry! Sit here now, and let me comfort you.”

“Oh! I can’t, Aneta. You don’t understand me – not a bit.”

“Better than you think, perhaps; and I am terribly sorry you are troubled. Oh, perhaps I know. I was told to-night that your mother had married again. You are unhappy about that?”

Maggie immediately dried her fast-falling tears. She felt that she was in danger. If Aneta found out, or if Mrs. Ward found out, who Maggie’s stepfather was, she would certainly not be allowed to stay at Aylmer House. This was her dread of all dreads, and she had so managed matters with her mother that Mrs. Ward knew nothing at all of Mrs. Howland’s change of name.

“Yes, my mother is married again,” said Maggie. “She is a rich woman now; but the fact is, I dearly loved my own father, and – it hurt me very much to see another put into his place.”

“Of course it did,” said Aneta, with deep sympathy; “it would have driven me nearly wild. Does Mrs. Ward know that your mother is married again, Maggie?”

“Well, I haven’t told her; and, please, Aneta, will you promise me not to do so?”

“But is there any occasion to keep it a secret, dear?”

“I would so much rather she did not know. She received me here as Maggie Howland. I am Maggie Howland still; my mother having changed her name makes no difference, except, indeed, that she is very well off, whereas she was poor.”

“Well, that of course is a comfort to you,” said Aneta. “Perhaps by-and-by you will learn to be glad that your mother has secured the care of a good husband. I am told that she has married one of those very nice Martyns who live in Warwickshire. Is that true?”

Maggie nodded. She hated herself after she had given that inclination of her head; but she had done it now, and must abide by it. To own Martin the grocer as a stepfather was beyond her power.

Aneta did not think it specially necessary to worry about Maggie’s mother and her new husband. She said that the whole thing was Maggie’s own affair; and, after trying to comfort the girl for a little longer, she kissed Maggie, and went to her own room. When there, she went at once to bed and fell fast asleep.

But Maggie sat for a long time by her open window. “What an awful and ridiculous position I have put myself in!” she thought. “The Martyns of The Meadows and Bo-peep of Laburnum Villa to be connected! I could almost scream with laughter if I were not also inclined to scream with terror. What an awful idea to get into people’s heads, and now I have, confirmed it! Of course I shall be found out, and things will be worse than ever.”

Before Maggie went to bed she sat down and wrote a brief note to her mother. She addressed it when written to Mrs. Martyn (spelt with a “y”), Laburnum Villa, Clapham. Maggie had seen Laburnum Villa, and regarded it as one of the most poky suburban residences she had ever had the pleasure of entering. The whole house was odiously cheap and common, and in her heart poor Maggie preferred Tildy and Mrs. Ross, and the fusty, musty lodgings at Shepherd’s Bush.