Without glancing at the girl, Miss Symes again left the room. In the corridor she met Fanny Crawford. “Fanny,” she said, “do you know what is the matter with Betty Vivian?”
Fanny smiled. “I have been to see her,” she said. “Is she in bad spirits? It didn’t occur to me that she was.”
“Oh, you have been to see her, have you?”
“Yes, only a short time ago. She looked very cold when I entered the room; but I took the liberty to light the fire, and sat with her until suddenly she got cross and turned me out. She is a very queer girl is Betty.”
“A very fine girl, my dear!”
Fanny made no response of any sort. She waited respectfully in case Miss Symes should wish to say anything further. But Miss Symes had nothing more to say; she only guessed that the change between the Betty in whom Mrs. Haddo had been so interested, and the Betty she had found, must be caused in some inexplicable way by Fanny Crawford. What was the matter with Fanny? It seemed to Miss Symes that, since the day when she had taken the girl into her full confidence with regard to the coming of the Vivians, she was changed, and not for the better. There was a coldness, an impatience, a want of spontaneity about her, which the teacher’s observant eye noticed, but, being in the dark as to the cause, could not account for.
Meanwhile Betty ate her tea ravenously, and when it was finished turned on the electric light and read “Treasure Island.” This book was so fascinating that she forgot everything else in its perusal: the sealed packet in its safe hiding-place, the Specialities themselves, the odious Fanny Crawford, Rule I.—everything was forgotten. Presently she raised her head with a start. It was half-past seven. Olive Repton was coming to fetch her at five minutes to eight, when the Specialities were all expected to assemble in Susie Rushworth’s room.
Betty put on a black dress that evening. It was made of a soft and clinging material, and was sufficiently open at the neck to show the rounded purity of the young girl’s throat, and short in the sleeves to exhibit the moldings of her arms. She was a beautifully made creature, and black suited her almost better than white. Her curiously pale face—which never had color, and yet never showed the slightest indication of weak health—was paler than usual to-night; but her eyes were darker and brighter, and there was a determination about her which slightly altered the character of her expression.
The twins came rushing in at ten minutes to eight.
“Oh, Bet, you are ready!” exclaimed Sylvia. “You are going to become a real Speciality! What glorious fun! How honored we’ll be! I suppose you won’t let us into any of the secrets?”