"This golden fortnight in Biddy's life, however, came to an end. Her aunt, Lady Kathleen Peterham, called a week ago, and took her and Janet May to Eastcliff. On that very morning Bridget had absolutely no lessons to say; she had not written out her theme, she had not learned her geography; her sum book was a blank. From that day she has returned to her normal state of ignorance; her lessons are as hopelessly badly learnt as ever."
"Well, well," said Miss Delicia, "I am sorry for the poor child. That rather silly aunt of hers probably turned her brain, but I cannot even now see how you make her conduct dishonorable. She's a naughty child, of course, and we must spur her on to greater efforts next time; but as to her being wanting in honor, that's a strong word, Sarah."
"Wait a minute," said Miss Dent. "You know the girls have to give up all their exercise books a couple of days before the examinations? Bridget handed me hers a couple of days ago. Her books were disgraceful—blotty, untidy, almost illegible. I examined them in hopeless despair. Suddenly my eyes were arrested; I was looking through the English themes.
"'Ah!' I said, 'here is the little oasis in the desert; these are the exercises Biddy wrote during the fortnight she was so good.'
"I suppose it was the force of the contrast, but I looked at these neatly written, absolutely correct, well spelled pages in astonishment. Busy as I was, I felt obliged to read one of the little essays over again; the subject was 'Julius Cæsar.' Bridget went up to the top of her class for the masterly way in which she had worked out her little essay. I read it over again, in perplexity and admiration. The English was correct, the style vigorous; there were both conciseness and thought in the well turned sentences. One phrase, however, struck on my ear with a curious sense of familiarity. At first I said to myself, 'I remarked this sentence when Bridget read her theme aloud, that is the reason why it is so familiar,' but my mind was not satisfied with this explanation. Like a flash I remembered where I had seen it before. I said to myself the child has got this out of Pearson's book of English extracts. Her essay is admirable, even without this concluding thought. I must tell her to put marks of quotation another time when she uses phrases not her own. I rose and went to the bookcase, and taking down Pearson, looked out his remarks on Julius Cæsar. My dear Delicia, judge of my feelings; the little essay was copied word for word from Pearson's book! It was a daring act, and, putting the wickedness out of sight, almost a silly one, for to quote from such a well-known author as Pearson was naturally almost to invite discovery. All the good, carefully written essays were copied from the same volume. I can at last understand why Bridget has fallen back into her old state of hopeless ignorance. I can also, alas! understand that golden fortnight of promise."
"But this is dreadful!" said Miss Delicia. "What have you done; have you told my sister yet?"
"No, I wanted to consult you before I spoke to anyone else on the matter."
Bridget got up slowly and softly, and moved away down the shady path; the two ladies did not see her as she went. She soon found herself standing on the open lawn in front of the house. The great marquee was being put up there; several workmen were busy, and little girls were fluttering about like gay, happy butterflies. Alice, Violet, and two or three more ran up to her when they saw her. "We are making wreaths of evergreens; won't you help us, Bridget?" they exclaimed.
"No," she said; "I have a headache—don't worry me." She turned abruptly away and walked down the avenue.
She had no longer any wish to break the rules, but she thought she would wait about near the entrance gates, in order to catch Janet on her way back from Eastcliff.