“Of course,” said Margret, “you don’t know anything about us or our rules at present; but we think we should like you to join, so we are here now to invite you to come to our next meeting, which will take place on Thursday of next week, at eight o’clock precisely, in my bedroom.”
“I don’t know where your bedroom is,” said Betty.
“But I know where yours is!” exclaimed Olive; “so I will fetch you, Betty, and bring you to Margaret’s room. Oh, I am sure you will enjoy it—we have such fun! Sometimes we give quite big entertainments—that is, when we invite the other girls, which we do once or twice during the term. By the way, that reminds me that you will be most useful in that respect, for you and your sisters have the largest bedroom in the house. You will, of course, lend us your room when your turn comes; but that is a long way off.”
“I am so glad you are coming!” said Margaret. “You are the sort of girl we want in our club. And now, please, tell me about your life in Scotland.”
“I will with pleasure,” replied Betty. She looked full up into Margaret’s face as she spoke.
Margaret was older than Betty, and taller; and there was something about her which commanded universal respect.
“I don’t mind telling you,” said Betty—“nor you,” she added as Olive’s dancing blue eyes met hers; “for a kind of intuition tells me that you would both love my wild moors and my beautiful heather. Oh, I say, do come, both of you, and see our three little plots of garden! There’s Sylvia’s plot, and Hester’s, and mine; and we have a plant of heather, straight from Craigie Muir, in the midst of each. Our gardens are quite bare except for that tiny plant. Do, do come and see it!”
Margaret laughed.
Olive said, “Oh, what fun!” and the three began to walk quickly under the trees in the direction of the Vivians’ gardens.