Of the two, Hal was far the greater favourite; she was in fact the popular idol; for though the girls were full of admiration for Lorraine, and not a little proud of her, they were also a little afraid of a wit that could be sharp-edged, and perhaps resentful too of that nameless something about her striking personality that made them feel their inferiority.
Hal was quite different, and her unfailing spirits, her vigorous championing of the oppressed, or scathing denunciation of anything sneaky and mean, made them all look up to her, and love her, whether she knew or not.
Even the governess felt her compelling attraction, and would often, by a timely word, save her from the consequences of some forgetful moment. At the same time, the one who warned Miss Walton against the possible ill results of the girl’s growing love for Lorraine little understood the nature she had to deal with.
When Hal found herself in the private sanctum, being gently admonished concerning a friendship that was thought to be growing too strong, she was quick instantly to resent the slur on her chum. She had been sent for immediately after “evening prep.,” and having, as usual, inked her fingers generously, and rubbed an ink-smudge across her face, to say nothing of really disgracefully tumbled hair, she looked a comical enough object standing before the impressive presence of the head mistress.
“Really, Hal,” Miss Walton remonstrated, “can’t you even keep tidy for an hour in the evening?”
“Not when it’s German night,” answered outspoken Hal; “where to put the verbs, and how to split them, makes my hair stand on end, and the ink squirm out of the pot.”
Miss Walton tried to look severe, remarking: “Don’t be frivolous here, my dear”; but, as Hal described it later, “she looked as if having so often to be sedate was beginning to make her tired.”
But when she proceeded to explain to Hal that neither she nor her sister were easy in their minds about her growing devotion to Lorraine, Hal’s expressive mouth began to look rather stern, and neither the ink-smudges nor the tousled hair could rob her of a certain naïve dignity as she asked, “Are you implying anything against Lorraine?”
“No, no, my dear, certainly not,” Miss Walton replied, feeling slightly at a loss to express herself, “but I have never encouraged a violent friendship between two girls that is apt to make them hold aloof from the others, and be continually in one another’s society. And in this instance, Lorraine being so much older than you, and of a temperament hardly likely to appeal to your brother, as a desirable one in your great friend—”
“I am not asking Dudley to make her his great friend—”