“Go out into the gardens, Gerry,” commanded Miss Drury from the wallflower table; “she must be there.”
But Betty was not there, though the presence of certain gardening tools proclaimed the fact that the Mascot must certainly have spent some time in working close to the sweet-pea hedge.
“Miss Drury, her gardening scissors are there. Some raffia, too. Just lying about!” Gerry’s eyes were wide.
“Go back to your seat, Gerry, and finish your breakfast. One of the prefects will go and look for her.” Miss Drury’s tones were as common-sensible as ever.
But little breakfast was possible for Gerry. She was beginning to grapple with an idea. Where was Betty? Already all the window-table girls were beginning to whisper, and the whispers were spreading round the room. Doron, the prefect who had been sent out to continue the search, had returned too, and Miss Drury herself had left the room after requesting Sybil to take her place at the head of the wallflower table.
“Please say grace when every one has finished, Sybil, and dismiss the girls to the grounds as usual.”
“Yes, Miss Drury.”
Their tones were level and quiet. Sybil’s tones in pronouncing grace and in uttering the usual commands were level and quiet too. But it was quite certain that “something” had happened. Gerry, feeling strangely desolate without Betty’s presence, made her way into the grounds alone.
Where was Betty? Was her disappearance in any way connected with the queer story which she had told Gerry last night? Could it be that— Her thoughts were broken into by fragments of conversation overheard from the lips of passing couples.
“On the day of her investiture, too!”