Girls New and Old

by L. T. Meade

"Kate seems to suspect me," said Molly, putting up her hand to her head. "I never felt so puzzled in my life."

"Well, come into your room, and let us talk it out," said Cecil.

The girls entered Molly's room. She turned on the electric light, and they sat down side by side on her little bed.

"It is a great matter to know the truth," said Cecil. "The facts of the case are simply these: Kate confided her story to you."

"Yes; about three weeks ago."

"Well, since then it has got into the school, and Kate suspects that you betrayed her confidence to Matilda Matthews."

"How dared she?" said Molly, coloring crimson. "What kind of girl must she think me?"

"Well, Molly, we must get to the bottom of it somehow. There is not the least manner of doubt that you are the only person in the school who had been told Kate's secret until to-night. Of course you never told: you would not breathe a word—that goes without saying. We need not waste our breath over that. The thing to find out is, how Matilda got her knowledge."

"I have not the faintest idea," said Molly. "I remember the day when Kate told me. We had taken a long walk together. She is a great botanist, and she was explaining to me some wonderfully interesting things about some plants which we had come across in our walk; then we went into the playground, and we sat in the summerhouse. It was a warm day for the time of year, and we were both tired and hot from our walk. There was not a soul anywhere near—not a single soul. Some girls in the distance were playing hockey; we did not take any notice of them. I asked Kate quite suddenly how she knew so much about plants. She looked at me—she gave me one of those straight glances which always somehow went to my heart, and then, she began to speak about her grandfather. The moment she mentioned him, she began to get enthusiastic. She drew such a picture that I became almost beside myself with delight and appreciation, that fact drew her on to tell me more. She described the cows and the little cottage, and the view from her bedroom window. Perhaps she did not make such a graphic picture of the whole thing as she did to-night, but the story was the same. I never loved her more, nor respected her more. Of course it was told in the greatest confidence, and it never passed my lips—never, until now when I am telling you."