Mrs. Haddo sank into the nearest chair. After a minute’s pause she turned to her writing-table and wrote a letter. She then rang her bell, and desired Anderson to get ready for a short journey.
About three o’clock that day Fanny, accompanied by Anderson, with her trunks and belongings heaped on top of a station-cab, drove from Haddo Court never to return. There were no girls to say farewell; in fact, not one of her friends even knew of her departure until Mrs. Haddo mentioned it on the following morning.
“Fanny did right to go,” she said. “And now we will try to live down all that has been so painful, and turn our faces once again towards the light.”
Betty recovered all in good time; but it was not until Christmas had long passed that she first asked for Fanny Crawford. When she heard that Fanny had gone, a queer look—half of pleasure, half of pain—flitted across her little face.
“You’re glad, aren’t you? You’re very, very glad, Bettina?” whispered Sylvia in her sister’s ear.
“No, I am not glad,” replied Betty. “If I had known she was going I might have spoken to her just once. As it is, I am sorry.”
“Oh Bettina, why?”
“Because she has lost the influence of so noble a woman as dear Mrs. Haddo, and of so faithful a friend as Margaret Grant, and of so dear a girl as Martha West. Oh, why did I ever come here to upset things? And why did I ever tell that wicked, wicked lie?”
“You have repented now, poor darling, if any one ever did!” said both the twins.