“And Betty did look queer!” she added. “I asked her if it was a piece of wood, and she said ‘Yes;’ but, all the same, she didn’t like me to see her. Of course she’s a darling—there’s no one like her; and she recovered herself in a minute, and walked with me a long way, and then suggested that I should wear the marguerites. Of course I had to go into the flower-garden to find Birchall and coax him to cut enough for me. Then I had to get Sarah Butt to help me to make the wreath, for I never made a wreath before in my life. But Sarah would do anything in the world that Betty suggested, she is so frightfully fond of her.”
“We are all fond of her, I think,” said Martha.
“Well, then she went off for a walk by herself, and I don’t think she came in until quite late.”
“You don’t know anything about it,” said Martha. “Now, look here, girls, don’t waste your time talking rubbish. You are very low down in the school compared to Betty Vivian, and, compared to Betty Vivian, you are of no account whatever, for she is a Speciality, and therefore holds a position all her own. Love her as much as you like, and admire her, for she is worthy of admiration. But if I were you, Sibyl, I wouldn’t tell tales out of school. Let me tell you frankly that you had no right to rush up to Betty when she was alone and ask her what she was doing. She was quite at liberty to thrust her hand into an old tree as often as ever she liked, and take some rubbish out, and look at it, and drop it in again. You are talking sheer folly. Do attend to your work, or you’ll be late for Miss Skeene when she comes to give her lecture on English literature.”
No girl could ever be offended by Martha, and the work continued happily. But during recess that day Sibyl beckoned her companions away with her; and she, followed by five or six girls of the lower fifth, visited the spot where Betty had stood on the previous evening. Betty was much taller than any of these girls, and they found when they reached the old stump that it was impossible for them to thrust their hands in. But this difficulty was overcome by Sibyl volunteering to sit on Mabel Lee’s shoulders—and, if necessary, even to stand on her shoulders while the other girls held her firm—in order that she might thrust her hand into the hollow of the oak-tree. This feat was accomplished with some difficulty, but nothing whatever was brought up except withered leaves and débris and a broken piece of wood much saturated with rain.
“This must have been what she saw,” said Sibyl. “I asked her if it was wood, and I think she said it was. Only, why did she look so very queer?”
The girls continued their walk, but Martha West stayed at home. She had hushed the remarks made by the younger girls that morning, nevertheless, she could not get them out of her mind. Sibyl’s story was circumstantial. She had described Betty’s annoyance and distress when they met, Betty’s almost confusion. She had then said that it was Betty who suggested that she was to wear the marguerites.
Now Martha, in her heart of hearts, thought this suggestion of Betty’s very far-fetched; and being a very shrewd, practical sort of girl, there came an awful moment when she almost made up her mind that Betty had done this in order to get rid of Sibyl. Why did she want to get rid of her? Martha began to believe that she was growing quite uncharitable.
At that moment, who should appear in sight, who should utter a cry of satisfaction and seat herself cosily by Martha’s side, but Fanny Crawford!