CHAPTER X
“FOR A LAGGARD IN LOVE AND A DASTARD IN WAR”
It seemed to Jan that each day was full of happenings of late. She was so much interested and had become so much a part of the life around her that she had not time to be homesick any more. First of all, there was Sydney and his affairs, which troubled her, though he had told her that her five dollars had purchased him temporary relief, and that he was considering ways of taking her advice and of earning money after school hours with which to pay his indebtedness.
And, strangely enough, there was Gladys, though nothing had seemed less likely than that this particular cousin should ever engross Jan’s thoughts.
The vague rumors floating about the Misses Larned’s school of great things to be done at Christmas had crystallized into the delightfully definite announcement that the girls were to give a play. And these thrilling tidings were followed by the still more exciting news that Gladys had been chosen for the principal part—that of an unfortunate princess, who, at the end of the play, came into her own again—from which Gwen, whose talent exceeded her sister’s, was excluded because of her height. The secret leaked out that the only competitor with Gladys in the minds of the teachers who made the cast was Daisy Hammond, and it did not tend to soothe the feelings of that young lady, already deeply chagrined that Gladys had been preferred to her. But she did not allow her wounded vanity to make any difference in her friendship for Gladys, treating her with more rather than less affection during these trying days, a fact to which Gladys triumphantly called Gwen’s attention as “perfectly sweet and dear of Daisy.”
There came a day—a dreadful day—however, less than a week after the matter of the distribution of the parts had been settled when the elder Miss Larned—and the more awful Miss Larned, if there were degrees in the awe-inspiring qualities of the sisters—came into the class-room and announced that for reasons into which it was not necessary to enter, but which were deemed quite sufficient by the faculty, the principal part in the Christmas play had been transferred from Miss Gladys Graham to Miss Daisy Hammond. Miss Gladys, she added, had been assigned the rôle of second court lady.
There was a silence more profound than mere absence of speech as this announcement fell on the ears of the first class, and it realized what it meant. “Second court lady!” Why, it was only a “thinking part,” a mere figure which trailed in and out, swelling the number of attendants on the principals in the play! What could have happened? For evidently this was a punishment inflicted upon Gladys, but for what? All eyes turned upon the deposed princess, who sat staring at the desk whence her sentence had proceeded, turning rapidly every shade and color of which the human countenance is capable, tears starting to her eyes, her lips quivering, but with such a look of blank amazement visible through her grief that most of her mates decided on the spot that whatever might be wrong Gladys was as ignorant of it as they were. Daisy Hammond’s face wore a look of gentle commiseration and regret, combined with wonder. She kept looking toward Gladys and raising her eyebrows inquiringly, while she shook her head in a vaguely expressive manner. As soon as recess came a buzz of voices rose on every side, and all the girls rushed to Gladys to ask what she had done to offend Miss Larned and receive such a crushing blow. They found Daisy Hammond with her arms around her friend, begging her to tell her what had happened to make Miss Larned do “such a horrid, horrid thing,” and assuring her that she would not “think of playing a part which had been taken from darling Gladys.”
“There hasn’t the least bit of a thing happened,” Gladys said in reply to the chorus of inquiries. “I don’t know anything more about it than you do. But I don’t care. If they want Daisy to play the princess, let her play it. The only thing I hate is being disgraced like this before the whole school, all for nothing.”
“Go to Miss Larned and ask her why she has changed her mind,” advised Dorothy Schuyler. “Tell her we all think she is offended with you, and you think so, too, and tell her you aren’t asking to be given the part, but you do ask for a chance to defend yourself if she thinks you have done wrong.”
“That’s the thing to do, Glad,” said Gwen decidedly. “Come on. I’ll go with you, and if she isn’t fair to you I’ll throw up my part, and so will Jan.”
An irrepressible gleam of triumph which shot across Daisy Hammond’s face before she could repress it, and a quick glance between her and Ida Hammond and Flossie Gilsey, did not escape the keen eyes of “Miss Lochinvar,” whose suspicions were alert. Nor was she less sure that she had seen the glance when Flossie Gilsey said sweetly: “You won’t spoil the play, Gwen! You know no one could take your place.”