“’Tis good of you, Fan, to let me walk with you!”
“I have something to say to you, Sibyl; but before I begin you must promise me most faithfully that you won’t repeat anything I am going to say.”
“Of course not,” said Sibyl. “As if I could!”
“I don’t suppose you would dare. You see, I am one of the older girls of the school, and have been a Speciality for some little time, and it wouldn’t be at all to your advantage if you did anything to annoy me. I should find out at once, for instance, if you whispered a syllable of this to Martha West, Margaret Grant, or any other member of the Speciality Club.”
“I won’t! I won’t! You may trust me, indeed you may,” said Sibyl.
“I think I may,” answered Fanny, looking down at Sibyl’s poor little apology of a face. “I think you are the sort who would be faithful.”
Sibyl’s small heart swelled with pride. “Betty was kind to me too,” she said; “and she did make me look nice—didn’t she?—when she suggested that I should wear the marguerites.”
“To tell you the truth, Sibyl, you were a figure of fun that night. Betty was laughing in her sleeve at you all the time.”
Sibyl colored, and her small light-blue eyes contracted. “Betty laughing at me! I don’t believe it.”
“Of course she was, child. We all spoke of it afterwards. Why, you don’t know what you looked like when you came into the room in that green dress, with that hideous wreath on your head.”