“Oh, now you are nasty and satirical,” said Annie, “and you don’t believe a word I say. Nevertheless, it is all true; our Mabel is a poet.”
“Well, poet or not,” remarked Constance, “she is a very jolly girl; I like her just awfully.”
“You would not want her to leave the school, would you?”
“Leave the school! Why, there isn’t a chance of it, is there?”
“I don’t know. I hope not. But I must go to her now, poor old darling! She is worrying over her prize essay, doubting her own ability, and all that sort of thing, whereas I know she could do capital work if she pleased.”
“And beat Priscilla?”
“Oh, Priscilla would not be in it if Mabel chose to exercise her powers. But the fact is, she is terribly afraid of your all finding her out. You won’t breathe what I have told you to a living soul, will you, Connie?”
“Not I. I am glad you confided in me. I shall listen to her essay with special pleasure this day fortnight, now that you have really enlightened me with regard to the order of her mind.”
Annie left the room and ran up to Mabel’s bedroom.
Mabel’s room and Annie’s adjoined; but one of the strictest rules of the house was that after bed-time each girl should be unmolested by her schoolfellows. One of the worst offences at Lyttelton School was for a girl, after bed-time had arrived, to infringe the rules by going into the room of her schoolfellow. Before bed-time full liberty was, however, given, and Annie tapped now with confidence at Mabel’s door.