Meanwhile, Fanny thought for a time. The first great entertainment of the Specialities was over. Betty was now a full-blown member, and as such must be treated in a manner which Fanny could not possibly have assumed towards her before this event took place. Fanny blamed herself for her weakness in consenting to keep Betty’s secret. She had done so on the spur of the moment, influenced by the curious look in the girl’s eyes, and wondering if she would turn to her with affection if she, Fanny, were so magnanimous. But Betty had not turned to her with either love or affection. Betty was precisely the Betty she had been before she joined the club. It is true she was very much sought after and consulted on all sorts of matters, and her name was whispered in varying notes of admiration among the girls, and she was likely (unless a spoke were put in her wheel) to rise to one of the highest positions in the great school. Betty had committed one act of flagrant wickedness. Fanny was not going to mince matters; she could not call it by any other name. There were no extenuating circumstances, in her opinion, to excuse this act of Betty’s. The fact that she had first stolen the packet, and then told Sir John Crawford a direct lie with regard to it, was the sort of thing that Fanny could never get over.
“One act of wickedness leads to another,” thought Fanny. “Contrary to my advice, my beseechings, she has joined our club. She has taken a vow which she cannot by any possibility keep, which she breaks every hour of every day; for she holds a secret which, according to Rule No. I., the other Specialities ought to know. What was she doing by the old stump? What did she take out and look at so earnestly? It was not a piece of wood. That idea is sheer nonsense.”
Fanny thought and thought, and the more she thought the more uncomfortable did she grow. “It is perfectly horrible!” she kept saying to herself. “I loathe myself for even thinking about it, but I am afraid I must put a spoke in her wheel. The whole school may be contaminated at this rate. If Betty could do what she did she may do worse, and there isn’t a girl in the place who isn’t prepared to worship her. Oh, of course I’m not jealous; why should I be? I should be a very unworthy member of the Specialities if I were. Nevertheless——”
Just then Sylvia and Hetty Vivian walked through the great recreation-hall arm in arm.
Fanny called them to her. “Where’s Betty?” she asked.
“She told us she’d be very busy for half an hour in our room, and that then she was going downstairs to have a sort of conference—with you, I suppose, Fanny, and the rest of the Specialities.”
Sylvia gave a very impatient shrug of her shoulders.
“Why do you look like that, Sylvia?” asked Fanny.
“Well, the fact is, Hetty and I do hate our own Betty belonging to your club. Whenever we want her now she is engaged; and she has such funny talk all about committee meetings and private conferences in your odious sitting-room. We don’t like it a bit. We much, much preferred our Betty before she joined the Specialities.”
“All the same,” said Fanny, “you must have felt very proud of your Betty last night.”