“No, I’m not getting out. I was wondering, though, if I could post this letter,” she began to a passing porter, just as two Benedick girls came along.
“Letter, eh? We’ll do it for you!” said one of them. “See, there’s the red pillar. No, no. Don’t fuss; there’s plenty of time. New girl, are you? Left something special at home?” The stranger took the envelope from Betty’s hand.
Betty had known that they were Benedick girls from the colour of their labels. They must be very high in the school, she decided, as she watched the pair of them, after depositing their traps on the seat opposite to her own, walk in leisurely fashion to the station post-box and return in equally leisurely fashion. She herself would have been all wings and flying fingers; there was no “fuss,” as they had called it, about them. Almost instinctively she pulled herself together a little and held herself in imitation of their bearing. But she couldn’t refrain from jumping from her seat to reopen the carriage door for them as they returned.
“Oh, thank you so much. Now they’ll get it at home. Isn’t there anything I can do for you?” She tugged at the door.
“Easy does it.” The handle was taken from her grasp. “Sit back, kiddy; we can’t get in.”
The speaker had a very nice voice; there was no mistake about that. So nice a voice indeed, and so very kind and steady a smile, that Betty didn’t mind in the very least being called “kiddy” by a stranger, though never in her life had the term been addressed to her before. Never perhaps in her life, either, had such a tone been addressed to her. Half-amused, half-tolerant, but clearly the tone of her-who-must-be-obeyed. Betty sat back instantly.
She sat back and listened, for the strangers began to talk. They were evidently friends; so much was certain. It seemed certain, too, that they had only just met after—as Betty decided to herself—their holidays at home. They evidently didn’t mind her listening either, for their tones, quiet and level as they were, did not seem in the least lowered. They were seated exactly opposite, too, and the elder of the two—the girl who had taken Betty’s letter and who had called her “kiddy”—caught sight once or twice of the listening look in Betty’s eyes and half-smiled at her.
Betty felt relieved and listened on.
But she felt bewildered too, because they seemed to be talking of things about which she herself had no knowledge at all. Betty had known that she would be ignorant at school compared to other girls there; but she had, at least, so she told herself, expected to understand the others’ language.
“I wonder if we shall manage another patrol this term,” said the elder.