“Sit down, dear, won’t you? Emma, I have been also anxious. I cannot understand why that notice was put up on the blackboard, and why Betty has left the club. Have you any clue, dear?”
“None whatsoever,” was Miss Symes’s answer. “Of course I, as a teacher, cannot possibly question any of the girls, and they are none of them willing to confide in me.”
“We certainly cannot question them,” said Mrs. Haddo. “But now I wish to say something to you. Betty has been absent from evening prayers at the chapel so often lately that I think it is my duty to speak to her on the subject.”
“I have also observed that fact,” replied Miss Symes. “Betty does not look well. There is something, beyond doubt, weighing on her mind. She avoids her fellow-pupils, whereas she used to be, I may almost say, the favorite of the school. She scarcely speaks to any one now. When she walks she walks alone. Even her dear little sisters are anxious about her; I can see it, although they are far too discreet to say a word. Poor Betty’s little face seems to me to grow paler every day, and her eyes more pathetic. Mrs. Haddo, can you not do something?”
“You know, Emma, that I never force confidences; I think it a great mistake. If a girl wishes to speak to me, she understands me well enough to be sure I shall respect every word she says; otherwise, I think it best to allow a girl of Betty Vivian’s age to fight out her difficulties alone.”
“As her teacher, I have nothing to complain of,” said Miss Symes. “She is just brilliant. She seems to leap over mental difficulties as though they did not exist. Her intuition is something marvellous, and she will grasp an idea almost as soon as it is uttered. I should like you to hear her play; it is a perfect delight to teach her; her little fingers seem to be endowed with the very spirit of music. And then that delightful voice of hers thrills one when she recites aloud, as she does twice a week in my recitation-class. As a matter of fact, dear Mrs. Haddo, I am deeply attached to Betty; but I feel there is something wrong just now.”
“A turning-point,” said Mrs. Haddo. “How often we come to them in life!”
“God grant she may take the right turning!” was Miss Symes’s remark. She sat silent, gazing gloomily into the fire.
“It is not like you, Emma, to be so despondent,” said the head mistress.
“I cannot help feeling despondent, for I think there is mischief afoot and that Betty is suffering. I wonder if——”