‘Yes, indeed!’ said the chorus.
‘And Latin!’ proclaimed another admirer.
‘I–I wish you wouldn’t,’ murmured Babs, unhappily.
She could not think what had come over them all; and they made her feel foolish. Fortunately, somebody noticed just then that she had finished the bread and jam; and they all rushed off, jostling one another again as they went, to find fresh provisions. Barbara seized the opportunity to escape, dodged the placid bearer of the milk, and went in search of Jean Murray. She had an uncommonly shrewd suspicion that Jean Murray was somehow at the bottom of this new and irritating persecution.
She found her hidden away in a corner of the big dining-room, occupying very much the position that Barbara herself had enjoyed until now. Her appearance was dejected, and she looked as though the encouragement of noble sentiments did not agree with her nearly so well as the strife and wrangling in which she usually indulged. The truth was that her new pose of friendliness was making her feel unpleasantly self-conscious; and she was afraid of being laughed at by the big girls for having so meekly accepted her late enemy for a friend. The big girls, of course, worried themselves so little about the petty quarrels of the junior playroom, that they had no more intention of laughing at her than Barbara had; but it was impossible for so important a person as Jean Murray to realise that. So she gave a guilty start when Barbara, heated, aggrieved, and bubbling over with resentment, suddenly pounced upon her in her corner.
‘I say, look here,’ began Babs, impetuously; ‘I thought you’d made it up, and it’s a shame!’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Jean Murray. ‘I have made it up, long ago.’
‘Then whose fault is it that all those girls keep bothering me?’ exclaimed Barbara, growing more indignant as she went on. ‘I haven’t had a moment’s peace all the morning, and it makes me feel silly. I don’t like being made to feel silly. Why don’t you tell them to leave me alone?’
‘But I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Jean. ‘How are they making you feel silly?’
‘They keep on telling me how clever I am,’ grumbled Barbara, in a tone of the deepest contempt. ‘Me clever! Just think of it! And they say I’m going to get to the top of the class, and all that rot. What do they mean by it? That’s what I want to know. I was just beginning to get used to girls, and I told Kit only yesterday that they were not so bad after all, because they left you pretty much to yourself; and now–look at them! It’s enough to make any one feel silly. Well, what’s the joke?’