Jean was laughing heartily. It was the first time that morning she had been able to forget her own feelings of ‘silliness’; and it cheered her considerably to find that some one else was in the same plight as herself. ‘You are queer!’ she declared. ‘Why, they are doing all that to show that they want to be nice to you, of course.’
Barbara stared at her aghast. ‘Oh!’ was all she said at first. After a pause for reflection, she added suddenly, ‘Then what were they trying to be all the time they left me alone?’
Jean stopped laughing, and began kicking at the window-seat by which they stood.
‘Was that their way of being nasty?’ proceeded Babs, in a puzzled tone.
‘I–I suppose so,’ muttered Jean, looking away from her.
‘Oh!’ said Barbara again.
There was another pause, and then Jean made an immense effort. ‘I made them leave you alone,’ she jerked out. ‘I hated you. It–it was because of Margaret Hulme.’
Barbara’s puzzled look vanished. When she did begin to understand a thing, she was generally pretty quick about it. ‘I’m beastly sorry,’ she said softly. ‘A little while ago, I thought Jill was going to make the boys like her better than me; and I felt just like that. What a pity you didn’t tell me sooner!’
That, after all, was their real reconciliation; and this time there was no doubt about it. If there had been, it would have been ended finally by Margaret Hulme herself, that same afternoon, in the cloakroom. The head girl had been taking off her own muddy boots for more than a fortnight now; and that in itself was enough to quicken her observation of events in the junior playroom.
‘Isn’t there anybody over there who would like to unlace my boots for me?’ she said in a loud voice, as the younger ones came trooping into the cloakroom after the hockey practice.