Violet was playing tennis, and, as Agnes spoke, her clear laugh rang out full of merriment. In her plain blue serge skirt and white blouse, with her luxuriant brown hair waving over her shoulders, and her face aglow with enjoyment, she made a very attractive picture, and Clara exclaimed, with genuine admiration:
"How lovely she is! Yes, really lovely with that bright colour in her cheeks and her sparkling brown eyes! I coil her one of the prettiest girls in the school, and she has such a winning way with her, too. My grandmother was quite charmed with her that day you brought her to see us, Ann."
"I am glad of that," Ann said, looking very pleased; "most people like Violet. We are all very fond of her at home."
"By the way, is it true that your father is paying her fees for her education here?" asked Agnes, bluntly, her gaze fixed with undisguised curiosity upon Ann.
Ann started and coloured. Her eyes had been following Violet's movements, but now she turned them upon Agnes, and looked her straight in the face.
"Had you not better inquire of Miss Orchardson?" she said, her voice betraying the annoyance she felt; "not that I think Miss Orchardson would gratify your ill-bred curiosity any more than I intend to do," she added scornfully.
"Well, don't be angry at my asking you, I meant no harm," Agnes faltered; "you are so touchy." She was secretly furious because Ann had called her question ill-bred, but she was most undesirous of having a serious fall out with her. "They say at home that your father is providing for Violet Wyndham and educating her at his own expense," she continued, "and, if he is, I call it most kind and generous of him, for she must cost him a pretty penny. But I much doubt if she's as grateful as she ought to be. She thinks too much of herself—all the Wyndhams do. You may call her one of the prettiest girls in the school, Clara, but 'handsome is as handsome does,' and you know my opinion of Violet Wyndham!" So saying, she rose, laughed disagreeably and meaningly, and marched away.
"What does she intend us to understand by that?" asked Ann, in bewilderment, glancing inquiringly at her companion who was looking very distressed; "what does she mean?"
"I—I don't know," stammered Clara, the colour flooding her usually pale cheeks. "Oh, dear me, that's not true," she said, as she met the direct gaze of the other's honest eyes, "but I hate to tell you about it. How can Agnes be so horrid and—and ungenerous! She's jealous of Violet because she's better looking and more popular than herself."
"What are you talking of, Clara?" questioned Ann, her bewilderment deepening; "what is there to tell me? I must know. Come, do speak out."