“I don’t think so,” said Hester in a gloomy voice; “for there are lots and lots of flies in that attic, and Dickie will eat them and think them nicer than raw meat.”
“Well, it’s time to go downstairs now,” said Betty.
She was very lively and bright at her lessons all day, and forgot Dickie in the other cares which engrossed her mind. That said mind was in a most curious state. She was at once greatly relieved and rebellious. Sylvia and Hetty watched her, when they could, from afar. Betty’s life as a member of the Specialities separated her a good deal from her sisters. She seldom saw them during the working-hours; but they were quite happy, for they had made some friends for themselves, and the three were always together at night. Betty was not specially reproachful of herself on their account. She could not help being cleverer than they, more brilliant, more able on all occasions to leap to a right conclusion—to discover the meaning of each involved mystery as it was presented to her. All the teachers remarked on her great intelligence, on her curious and wonderful gift for dramatization. The girls in her form were expected once a week to recite from Shakespeare; and Betty’s recitations were sufficiently striking to arrest the attention of the entire room. She flung herself into the part. She was Desdemona, she was Portia, she was Rosalind. She was whatever character she wished to personate. Once she chose that of Shylock; and most uncanny became the expression of her face, and her words were hurled forth with a defiance worthy of the immortal Jew.
All these things made Betty a great favorite with the teachers as well as with the girls. She was, as a rule, neither cross nor bad-tempered. She was not vain for her gifts. She was always ready to help the others by every means in her power.
During recess that day Betty received a small three-cornered note in Margaret Grant’s handwriting. She opened it, and saw that it was a brief request that she, Betty Vivian, should meet Margaret and the other members of the Speciality Club in Margaret’s room at half-past seven that evening. “Our meeting will be quite informal, but we earnestly beg for your attendance.”
Betty slipped the note into her pocket. As she did so she observed that Fanny Crawford’s eyes were fixed on her.
“Are you going to attend?” asked Fanny.
“You will know,” replied Betty, “when you go into the room to-night at half-past seven and find me there or not there. Surely that is enough for you!”
“Thanks!” replied Fanny. Then, summoning a certain degree of courage, she came a step nearer. “Betty, if I might consult with you, if I might warn you——”
“But as you may not consult with me, and as you may not warn me, there is nothing to be done, is there?” said Betty. “Hallo!” she cried the next minute, as a schoolgirl whose friendship she had made during the last day or two appeared in sight, “I want to have a word with you, Jessie. Forgive me, Fan; I am very much occupied just at present.”