This was the one peep that her sisters were permitted to get into Betty Vivian’s heart before the meeting of the Specialities that evening.
Olive Repton was quite excited preparing for her guests. School had become much more interesting to her since Betty’s arrival. Martha was also a sort of rock of comfort to lean upon. Margaret, of course, was always charming. Margaret Grant was Margaret Grant, and there never could be her second; but the two additional members gave undoubted satisfaction to the others—that is, with the exception of Fanny Crawford, who had, however, been most careful not to say one word against Betty since she became a Speciality.
Olive’s room was not very far from the Vivians’, and as Betty on this special night was hurrying towards the appointed meeting-place she came across Fanny. Between Fanny and herself not a word had been exchanged for several days.
Fanny stopped her now. “Are you ill, Betty?” she said.
Betty shook her head.
“I wish to tell you,” said Fanny, “that, after very carefully considering everything, I have made up my mind that it is not my place to interfere with you. If your conscience allows you to keep silent I shall not speak. That is all.”
“Thank you, Fanny,” replied Betty. She stood aside and motioned to Fanny to pass her. Fanny felt, for some unaccountable reason, strangely uncomfortable. The cloud which had been hanging over Betty seemed to visit Fanny’s heart also. For the first time since her cousin’s arrival she almost pitied her.
Olive’s room was very bright. She had a good deal of individual taste, and as the gardeners were always allowed to supply the Specialities with flowers for their weekly meetings and their special entertainments, Olive had her room quite gaily decorated. Smilax hung in graceful festoons from several vases and trailed in a cunning pattern round the little supper-table; cyclamen, in pots, further added to the decorations; and there were still some very beautiful white chrysanthemums left in the green-house, a careful selection of which had been made by Birchall that day for the young ladies’ festivities.
And now all the girls were present, and supper began. Hitherto, during the few meetings of the Specialities that had taken place since she became a member, Betty’s voice had sounded brisk and lively; Betty’s merry, sweet laugh had floated like music in the air; and Betty’s charming face had won all hearts, except that of her cousin. But to-night she was quite grave. She sat a little apart from the others, hardly eating or speaking. Suddenly she got up, took a book from a shelf, and began to read. This action on her part caused the other girls to gaze at her in astonishment.
Margaret said, “Is anything the matter, Betty? You neither eat nor speak. You are not at all like our dear, lively Speciality to-night.”