CHAPTER XIV.
SCHOOL AT THE FOLLIES.
Jane Denton had a hard fight for her life. For days she hovered between this world and the next. Two or three doctors came to see her. She had two trained nurses; bulletins were put up at the door; no one was allowed to come in. The girls who were staying with Mrs. Brett were strictly forbidden to have any communication with the infected house; Rosamund and Irene were equally forbidden to go near Sunnyside.
But at last there came a day when there was a decided improvement. The diphtheria was gone, and the young patient began slowly to pass from danger to convalescence. Then a load seemed to be lifted from every one's breast; and Rosamund really turned, as she expressed it, to consider her future life. During the time of waiting she had a certain influence over Irene; not, perhaps, so much as on the first day, when that young lady, charmed, bewildered, and amazed by Rosamund's firmness, had followed her lead unflinchingly. Rosamund now had to consider herself. She wrote, therefore, a long letter to her mother.
"I could not do so," she thought, "while Jane lay between life and death, when there was a strong chance of the school at Sunnyside not existing any more. But now I must write to dear mother and tell her the truth."
Accordingly, the following letter reached Mrs. Cunliffe on a certain morning early in July:
"My Darling Mother,—You know all about Jane, of course, and that she is now better—in fact, quite out of danger. In a short time they will take her away, probably to some seaside place, the house will be disinfected, and the girls will come back to their work. Miss Archer, the English governess, will be as strict and as unsympathetic as ever, and Mademoiselle Omont will teach excellent French, no doubt.
"Now, mother darling, you may have heard, or you may not have heard, that I am in disgrace at Sunnyside. I could not give up Irene, and in consequence the Professor says that I am not to return to the school. He means by that that I am to be in a sense expelled. I felt his words very acutely when he uttered them, for I didn't wish to do anything contrary to your desires; but I felt that I could not give up Irene. I was the first person who had any influence over her, and she was running wild and becoming a torment to her neighbors. I don't know what she would have come to in the end. So I elected, mother darling, to go straight to Lady Jane's instead of to Mrs. Brett, when dear Jane was so ill. Now I am established here at The Follies, and I am not allowed to go back to Sunnyside. Doubtless you know that, and perhaps you are angry with your own Rosamund. But I asked your leave to stay, and you gave it, although you did not know all the circumstances. Will you, dear mother, write to Professor Merriman and ask him to tell you exactly why he wishes to expel me? He will probably give you a very sorry story; but you must believe it or not as you please. I think you know your Rosamund better than he does. I am not going back to Sunnyside, for they would not accept me; but, at the same time, I do not feel at all a disgraced girl; and I should like the Merrimans to be friends with me, and I should still like sometimes to see Jane and Laura Everett, and some of the other girls—not Lucy Merriman, for she is not in the least to my taste; but even she does not greatly matter now that I am no longer living in the house with her. The fact is, dear mother, I could not have been a good girl had I stayed long in the house with Lucy, for she managed in some extraordinary manner to rub me the wrong way. She was so extra good, so punctilious, and so proper; she didn't suit me one bit, and I didn't suit her one little bit either. I was becoming quite a naughty girl. I never was too good—was I, mother dear? Perhaps, darling, I'd have become an awfully naughty Rosamund had it not been for Irene—poor little wild Irene; but she was really and truly much naughtier than I ever thought of being, and her example shocked me and pulled me up, and I resolved to try to be good for her sake.
"But I do like Professor Merriman, although I know he does not like me; and I believe they are very poor. So I wish you would find another pupil in my place—some ordinary kind of girl, who would pay about the same sum; or perhaps, mother, as you are so very well off, you might pay the money for her. What do you say to that? It is just a notion of mine. There is my cousin Anice: you know how her mother frets because she is not well educated. Well, she would be well educated at the Merrimans', for the two governesses, as well as the masters who come for occasional lessons, are first-rate. Now, just think that over, only don't let my name appear in the matter.