Kathleen did more than smile. She laughed outright. “I am delighted you have come,” she said. “How are you? Isn’t 108 school glorious? I do love it! I have come straight from Glengariff—the most beautiful part of the whole of Ireland. Do you know Ireland? Have you ever seen Bantry Bay? Oh, there is no country in all the world like it, and there is no scenery so magnificent.”
“Come, Kitty, not quite so much chatter,” said Aneta.—“Ah, there’s the tea-gong.”
The girls now followed Aneta into a pleasant room which looked out on to a small garden. The garden, compared to the great, sweeping lawns and lovely parterres of Meredith Manor, was insignificant. Nevertheless, with the French windows of the refectory wide open, and the beds full of hardy flowers—gay geraniums, late roses, innumerable asters, fuchsias, etc.—it appeared as a fresh surprise to the country girls.
“It isn’t like London,” thought Merry.
At tea she found herself, greatly to her relief, at Maggie’s side. There was also another piece of good fortune—at least so it seemed to the Cardews, whose conversational French was still almost nil—Mademoiselle Laplage was unexpectedly absent, the good lady being forced to remain in her room with a sudden, overpowering headache, and pleasant, good-natured Lucy—otherwise Miss Johnson—took her place.
“Perfect freedom to-day, girls,” said Miss Johnson.
“Ah, good Lucy! thank you, Lucy!” exclaimed Kathleen.
“That’s right, Lucy! Hurrah for Lucy!” cried several other voices.
“No discipline at all to-day,” continued Lucy. “School doesn’t begin until to-morrow.”
Cicely was seated near Aneta, with Kathleen O’Donnell at her other side. Just for a minute Aneta’s eyes traveled across the table and fixed themselves on Maggie’s face. Maggie found herself coloring, and a resentful feeling awoke in her heart. She could not dare to oppose Aneta; and yet—and yet—she was determined at any cost to keep the love of Merry Cardew for herself.