“‘Patrol’?” thought Betty questioningly.
“If so, we shall be a full company. And there will be still more competition for the Cup,” returned her friend. “You Daisies will have to work for it if you’re to hold it next year too.”
This indeed was Greek. Betty suddenly felt a qualm of home-sickness sweep over her. Where would she be in a school where girls talked understandingly of matters of which she had never heard? Perhaps her feelings were shown by her expression of face, for her first friend leaned suddenly forward with a quick impulsive movement.
“Are you interested in Guides?”
“Guides?” Betty shook her head.
“You haven’t heard of them?” There was no scorn in the speaker’s voice at all, though she certainly did seem surprised. “Why, then, what a good thing you’ve decided to come to Benedick’s! You’ll love it. We’re all Guides there. What is your name?”
“Betty Carlyle,” said Betty rather shyly.
She had hardly ever felt shy before. Generally at home, when there were visitors—and that was very seldom—she was so busy helping the little ones not to be shy that she quite forgot to be shy herself. Now, however, she seemed suddenly to find herself in an altogether new world. If it had not been for the kind look in the blue eyes which were looking into her own, Betty would have felt shyer. But the eyes were very kind.
“Ask the kiddy her age, too, Sybil?” said the second occupant of the carriage. “She’s above Brownie age, I think.”
“I’m thirteen,” said Betty, not understanding the allusion in the least.