“Yes, you, Betty. Doesn’t it sound absurd? And they all voted for you—every one of them, with the exception of myself.”
“And it’s a great honor, isn’t it?” said Betty, speaking very quietly.
“Oh yes—immense.”
“Then, of course, you wouldn’t vote—would you, dear little Fan?”
“Don’t talk like that! We shall be returning to the schoolroom in a few minutes, and Margaret is sure to talk to you after dinner. You are elected by the majority, and you are to be invited to attend the next meeting. But I want you to refuse—yes, I do, Betty; for you can’t join—you know you can’t. With that awful, awful lie on your conscience, you can’t be a Speciality. I shall go wild with misery if you join. Betty, you must say you won’t.”
Betty looked very scornfully at Fanny. “There are some people in the world,” she said, “who make me feel very wicked, and I am greatly afraid you are one. Now, let me tell you plainly and frankly that if you had said nothing I should probably not have wished to become that extraordinary thing, a Speciality; but because you are in such a mortal funk I shall join your club with the utmost pleasure. So now you know.”
CHAPTER VII
SCOTCH HEATHER
Betty was true to her word. After school that day, Margaret Grant and Olive Repton came up to her and asked her in a very pretty manner if she would become a member of their Speciality Club.