Nevertheless, Jane had her own little jealousies, and although they were not so marked as Harriet’s—for her character was nothing like as strong as the character of her friend—they did rankle in her breast. To be even the one confidante of the naughty girl of the third form was better than to be no one’s confidante at all; and from the moment of Harriet’s repentance, Jane had been feeling very safe, but just a little dull, and just a tiny bit forsaken. Now, therefore, to receive the old confidence back again, to notice the daring look in Harriet’s light blue eyes, and to hear the old ring in her voice, awoke a certain very naughty pleasure in Jane.
“Oh well,” she said; “I thought your good fit couldn’t last forever. But what is it now?”
“I am just madly jealous of that Robina,” whispered Harriet.
“Oh,” said Jane; “it’s the old thing! But why can’t you leave poor Robina alone?”
“I can’t: she has got Bo-peep.”
“Well; of course she has,” said Jane. “You knew quite well she would get Bo-peep from the moment that you made such a mess of things with poor little Ralph, and he was handed over to Robina to mother him. That is no news, surely you ought to have got over that by now.”
“I ought; but I haven’t,” said Harriet; “so where’s the good of ‘oughting’ me about it?”
“I see you are the same as ever,” said Jane in a low tone in which satisfaction and perplexity were mingled.
“I am,” said Harriet, “and what is more, if they think I am going to ride one of those horrid donkeys, they are very much mistaken. You can mount on your Thistle, or your Nettle all by yourself, as far as I am concerned. If I can’t have a pony like Bo-peep or Bluefeather, I shan’t ride at all.”
“Oh, Harriet; you will make us all so unhappy, and it will look so bad, and dear Mr Durrant won’t like it.”