“I think we will not discuss the subject any more. Miss Drake said, if you remember, that she would rather we didn’t. We ought to respect her wishes.”
“I’m sorry,” said Susan meekly. She was not the one who had introduced the subject, but she was quite willing to take the blame upon herself, willing to endure any amount of blame if only Dreda would be kind and love her once more.
For the rest of the term the whole routine of the school was arranged for the benefit of those girls who were going in for the different examinations at Christmas; and those who, like Dreda, had not entered their names were necessarily somewhat left out in the cold. They took part in the same classes, but it was not in teacher-nature to take quite so keen an interest in them as in those whose prowess might add to the reputation of the school. If an ordinary scholar were inclined to “slack,” now was her chance to do so with the least chance of discovery or punishment, and it is to be feared that Dreda, among others, did not disdain to do so.
“I disapprove of this modern method of cram,” she announced in a home letter. “Young girls need rest and amusement, not one long, continual grind; and I don’t think it’s feminine to be so learned. Accomplishments give far more pleasure, and you ought to be unselfish in life. I should like a new dress for the prize-giving, please. Something very nice—blue—and extra well made, because it may be noticed a good deal. I’m so glad you are all coming. It will be nice for you to see Mr Rawdon. I am looking forward to it fearfully much.”
The new dress arrived in due course, and was all that could be desired. Dreda beamed complacently as she fastened the last button and regarded her reflection in the glass at two o’clock on the afternoon of the nineteenth of December; but her satisfaction was somewhat damped by the discovery that her favourite little pearl brooch was missing, making still another of those mysterious disappearances by which she had been annoyed during the whole of the term.
“I really can not bear it. It’s too much! It would try the patience of Job!” she cried passionately. “Someone is bent on driving me frantic, and whoever she is she’s a mean, dastardly wretch. Sometimes,”—her eyes flashed upon Nancy, who sat upon her bed leisurely brushing out her long brown mane—“sometimes, Nancy, I believe it is You.”
Susan, glancing fearfully across the room, saw Nancy’s shoulders give a slight involuntary jerk, but she made no other sign of perturbation, and voice and manner remained as usual, calmly nonchalant.
“Do you?” she queried, smiling. “How interesting! And what has led you to that conclusion, may I ask?”
“Your own character. You take a delight in teasing and worrying and mystifying people out of their senses. You probably think it amusing to hide my things, and see me rushing about searching desperately in every corner. I’m good sport, I suppose, because I’m so easily roused. Things affect me more than other people, because I’m so sensitive. I’m like—”
“An Aeolian harp—I know! I’ve heard the comparison before,” said Nancy, with a quiet nod of the head which was infinitely exasperating. Dreda stamped her foot upon the floor.