Chapter Eleven.
Divided Opinions.
“Girls,” announced Miss Phipps after tea, two evenings later, “I have something to tell you which I am sure you will be delighted, and also much touched to hear. You have, I suppose, taken for granted that no breaking-up party would be held this term, as I have unfortunately had to deprive you of all holidays and excursions. For myself, I had put the matter entirely aside, as out of keeping with our present position, but you have had an advocate whom I have found it impossible to refuse. Someone has pleaded your cause so eloquently that she has gained the day, and I have now to announce that your party will be held as usual on Wednesday next, a few days before we break up. Don’t thank me, please! It is someone else who deserves your thanks. Can you guess who it is?”
The girls were jumping about in their seats, all excitement and delight. Ethel was tossing her curls, Flora beaming from ear to ear, Kate’s eyes were dancing behind her spectacles, Margaret was looking across the table at Pixie with an anxious, scrutinising glance. Who could it be—this unknown champion? There were whispering and consulting on every side, but the first suggestions fell wide of the mark.
“Mrs Vane!” said one, mentioning the name of the giver of the “Alice Prize,” which was held in such importance in the school. But no, it was not Mrs Vane. “Miss Ewing!” cried another, naming a friend of Miss Phipps, who on one memorable occasion had begged a holiday for the entire school; but it was not Miss Ewing. “Nearer home, nearer home! She is in this room now!” cried Miss Phipps, laughing; and then it was impossible to look at Mademoiselle’s red cheeks and remain in doubt any longer.
The gasp of surprise, of gratitude, of admiration that went round the room was the most eloquent acknowledgment of the generosity which had prompted the request, and Mademoiselle grew redder than ever, as she reflected that she would not have deserved any thanks had it not been for the suggestion of another. She looked instinctively at Pixie, and met a smile which reached from ear to ear, and was fairly beaming over with exultation. No one in the room looked so beamingly happy, but the next moment the smile gave way to a startled expression, as Miss Phipps continued slowly—
“There is one girl whom I am unfortunately obliged to except in giving my invitation, and that is Pixie O’Shaughnessy. Whether she is guilty of really breaking Mademoiselle’s scent-bottle or not, it is impossible for me to say, but a suspicion has rested upon her which she has persistently refused to remove. I cannot allow a girl who defies my authority to be among us on such an occasion, and though the fact that she is in disgrace will cast a shadow over our evening, I consider that I have no choice in the matter. On Wednesday night, then, Pixie, you will have tea by yourself in the schoolroom, and go up to bed at seven o’clock.”
“I will, Miss Phipps,” said Pixie faintly. She had blushed until her face was crimson from the roots of her hair to the tip of her chin, and her face stood out like a vivid peony among those of her companions. Everyone looked at her, and the glances were more kindly than they had been for many a day; for it is easy to be sympathetic when we get our own way, and have shifted the burden off our own shoulders on to those of another. When the Principal left the room, attention was almost equally divided between Mademoiselle and Pixie, who were each surrounded by a group of excited talkers.
“Oh, Maddie, I do call you an angel! It was simply sweet of you to plead for us when you have been the one to suffer. I’ll love you for ever for this!”