Girls New and Old

by L. T. Meade

"I really can't!" said Molly, in a cross voice. "It is quite impossible."

"There, I knew you were a humbug like the rest of them," said Matilda, removing her hand with such violence from Molly's arm that she almost pushed her down. "I know you got up early last Sunday to go to the communion, but you are like the rest of those stupid folks who profess so much; when it comes to the point you'll do nothing."

"But, but," said Molly, "it is grandmother's party, and she said nothing about you. I can't do it, Matilda—I really can't!"

"You know perfectly well it is your party, and that the old lady will do as you please. Anyhow, you can write and ask her if I may come; you can say I am a plain, good sort of girl—I shan't mind if you run down my appearance a bit. If you just add I am a chum of yours, she'll agree fast enough, and of course mother will manage my expenses. If you don't do it, Molly, I shall go to the Kings' at Brighton, I vow and declare I will! I won't stay here. Mother was in a way when she wrote, and she never thought of the Kings, but I'll remind her of them. You wouldn't much like to be in that house if you knew what it was like—card parties on Sunday, and no end of fun; and as to the flirtations, why, Arabella has had six proposals already, and she's not nineteen! I don't really care for the Kings, they are such a fast lot; but I'll go to them rather than stay here. If I were with you, Molly, perhaps I might be even a little bit good, or perhaps I might try to be good. Well, it is for you to decide."

The girls were passing the cathedral at that moment; the voices of the choir came out on the evening air.

Molly thought, with a sort of shock, of her vow. She was just having a pretty sharp encounter with the enemy. Was she to fall so quickly and so soon? She turned abruptly, and looked full at her companion.

"To tell you the truth, Matilda," she said, "I'd rather not have you."

"Well, that's pretty frank, upon my word!" said Matilda; "and why?"

"Because," said Molly, "you don't care for Cecil and Kate, and because I do; because Cecil, Kate, and I are harmonious in every sense of the word. You have not our tastes, you have not our ideas, your plans for yourself in life are not a bit the same as ours; but rather than—rather than you should be wretched and perhaps do yourself harm, Matty, I—I will talk to the girls about it. There, don't say anything more. I will let you know to-morrow."

Molly dashed away as she spoke, rushed into the cool hall at St. Dorothy's, ran upstairs, and locked herself into her own little room; there she fell on her knees and wept bitterly.