Part 16 (1/2)
”One can't be too careful!” she fluttered. ”I know in a doctor's house they are apt sometimes to take these things too lightly. It's far better not to run any risks.”
As Merle had a medical certificate of complete recovery, and neither Mavis nor Clive had developed the complaint, there was now no reason for keeping the girls away from school, and one Monday morning they were received back into the fold. They had lost a considerable amount of ground in regard to their lessons, and had to work hard to try to make up for the weeks that were missed. At hockey, too, Merle found her teams were slack. It needed much urging to persuade them to play a really sporting game.
”I daren't fix a match yet with any other school,” she a.s.sured them. ”We should only be beaten hollow, and it's no use playing if we have no chance to win. You must all buck up and get more into the swing of things. Perhaps next season we shall be a stronger team.”
”If we never play matches we shall never improve,” objected Sybil, who was anxious to accept the challenge of the Beverton County School.
”We've got the credit of 'The Moorings' to think about!” snapped Merle.
”You wouldn't like them to go home crowing they'd absolutely wiped us off the face of the earth? I've had a little experience in matches and I know what I'm talking about. It would be downright silly to give ourselves away.”
Sybil was rather a thorn in Merle's side. She had come from another boarding-school, and on the strength of this experience thought she had the right to become at once a leader at 'The Moorings.' She was very disgusted not to be in any position of authority, and consoled herself by continual criticism of the monitresses, particularly Merle, with whom she was always sparring. She was a curious character, all precept but not much practice. She loved to give good advice and to lay down the law, and was rather priggish in bringing out moral maxims for the benefit of others. She had a tremendous sense of her own importance and what was due to her, and was very ready to consider herself overlooked, or neglected, or misunderstood.
”Look here!” said Merle bluntly one day. ”_Why_, I ask, _why_ should people be expected to make such a fuss over you? I don't wonder you're neglected! I'd neglect you myself! And serve you jolly well right too!”
Whereupon Sybil dissolved into tears, and confided to her nearest friend that so long as Merle Ramsay was monitress she was afraid she would never be happy at 'The Moorings.' Poor Sybil had her good points. She was generous in her own way, and rather affectionate, but nature had not endowed her with tact, and she would go blundering on, never seeing that she was making mistakes. Her very chums soon tired of her and discreetly left her to some one else.
”I sometimes think she's a little bit dotty!” opined Nesta.
”Nonsense! She's as sane as you or I. It's all sw.a.n.k! I've no particular patience with her!” said Merle.
One particularly aggravating feature of Sybil was the way she traded upon rather delicate health. There was really nothing much the matter with her, but she sometimes had slight attacks of faintness, which, the girls declared, always came on when she thought she could be a subject of interest. She liked to extract sympathy from Miss Mitch.e.l.l, or to arouse Miss Pollard's anxiety. Moreover, it was often a very good excuse for slacking off in her preparation or her practising.
One afternoon Merle, coming back to school, met Miss Mitch.e.l.l by the gate.
”I was just looking for you!” said the teacher. ”I've arranged an extra hockey practice at three, instead of English language. Will you tell the others?”
This was excellent news. The Fifth hated the English Language cla.s.s, which consisted mostly of learning strings of horrible derivations, and to have it cut out for once in favour of hockey was quite an event. Merle walked up the drive smirking with satisfaction. By the porch she found Sybil, with an English language book in one hand, half-heartedly helping Miss f.a.n.n.y, who was nailing up creepers. She looked very sorry for herself.
”I wish you'd hold the ladder, Merle!” she sighed, eager to thrust her duties on to a subst.i.tute. ”I don't feel quite well this afternoon. I get such a faintness. Aren't these derivations too awful for anything?” she added _sotto voce_. ”I don't believe I know one of them.”
”Buck up!” whispered Merle with scant sympathy.
”It's all very well to say 'buck up'! You don't know what it is to feel faint. You're as strong as a horse. I'm really not fit to stand about!”
”Shall I ask Miss f.a.n.n.y to let you go in and lie down?”
”I wish you would! I don't like to ask her myself; it seems making such a fuss.”
Merle proffered the request, with which Miss f.a.n.n.y, rather astonished, complied.
”Certainly, Sybil, if you really are ill! Shall I give you a dose of sal volatile?”
”No, thanks! I shall be all right if I can just rest on my bed,” answered the plaintive voice.
”I daresay you'll soon feel better. It's a pity you'll miss the hockey practice,” said Merle.
”What hockey practice?”
”Miss Mitch.e.l.l has just told me to tell everybody. We're to play instead of having English language this afternoon.”
Sybil's face was a study. But Miss f.a.n.n.y's eyes were fixed upon her with such a questioning look that she was obliged to preserve her air of faintness and continue to pose as an invalid. There was nothing for it but to go and lie down. As she turned, however, she managed to whisper to Merle: