Part 16 (1/2)
There's Martha West, who is constantly with her.”
”I am quite sure,” said Margaret, ”that there isn't a better girl in the school than Martha, and I have serious thoughts of asking her to become a Speciality.” As she spoke she fixed her very dark eyes on f.a.n.n.y's face.
”Do ask her; I shall be delighted,” remarked f.a.n.n.y. ”Only, whatever you do, don't ask her friend, Sibyl Ray.”
”I have no present intention of doing so. f.a.n.n.y, I don't want to be nasty; but you are quite right about Sibyl. No one can say a word against her; and yet she just is not well-bred.”
CHAPTER VIII
A NEW MEMBER
The picnic was a great success. The day was splendid. The sun shone in a sky which was almost cloudless. The motor-cars were all in prime condition. There were no accidents of any sort. The girls laughed and chatted, and enjoyed life to the utmost; and the Vivian girls were amongst the merriest in those large and varied groups.
The twins invariably followed in Betty's footsteps, and Betty possessed that curious mixture of temperament which threw her into the depths of anguish one moment and sent her spirits flying like a rocket skyward the next. Betty's spirits were tending skyward on this happy day. She was also making friends in the school, and was delighted to walk with Margaret and Susie and Olive. f.a.n.n.y did not trouble her at all; but Martha West chatted with her for a whole long hour, and, as Martha knew Scotland, a very strong link was immediately established between the girls.
A thoroughly happy picnic--a perfect one--is usually lived through without adventure. There are no _contretemps_, no unhappy moments, no jealousies, no heart-burnings. These are the sort of picnics which come to us very rarely in life, but they do come now and then. In one sense, however, they are uninteresting, for they have no history--there is little or nothing to say about them. Other picnics are to follow in this story which ended differently, which led to tangled knots and bitter heart-burnings. But the first picnics from Haddo Court in which Betty Vivian took part was, in a way, something like that first morning when she joined the other girls in whispering her prayers in the beautiful chapel.
The picnic came and went, and in course of time the day arrived when Betty was to be the honored guest of the Specialities. On the morning of that day f.a.n.n.y made another effort to induce Betty to renounce the idea of becoming a Speciality. She had spent a sleepless night thinking over the matter, and by the morning had made up her mind what to do.
Betty was making friends rapidly in the school. But the twins, although they were quite popular, still clung very much to each other; and f.a.n.n.y's idea was to get at Betty through her sisters. She knew quite well that often, during recess, Sylvia and Hester rushed upstairs, for what purpose she could not ascertain, the existence of the Vivians'
attic being unknown to her. There, however, day by day, Sylvia and Hetty fed d.i.c.kie on raw meat, and watched the monstrous spider getting larger and more ferocious-looking.
”He'd be the sort,” said Sylvia, opening her eyes very wide and fixing them on her sister, ”to do mischief to _some one_ if _some one_ were not very careful.”
”Oh, don't, silly Sylvia!” said Hetty with some annoyance. ”You know Mrs. Haddo would not like you to talk like that. Now let's examine our caterpillars.”
”There isn't much to see at the present moment,” remarked Sylvia, ”for they're every one of them in the chrysalis stage.”
The girls, having spent about five minutes in the Vivians' attics, now ran downstairs, and went out, as was their custom, by a side-door which opened into one of the gardens. It was here that f.a.n.n.y pounced on them.
She came quickly forward, trying to look as pleasant as she could.
”Well, twins,” she said, ”and how goes the world with you?”
”Oh, all right!” replied Sylvia. ”We can't stay to talk now; can we, Het? We've got to meet a friend of ours in the lower garden--old Birchall. By the way, do you know old Birchall, Fan?”
”Doddering old creature! of course I know him,” replied f.a.n.n.y.
”He isn't doddering,” said Sylvia; ”he has a great deal more sense than most of us. I wish I had half his knowledge of worms, and spiders, and ants, and goldfish, and--and--flies of every sort. Why, there isn't a thing he doesn't know about them. I call him one of the most delightful old men I ever met.”
”Oh,” said Hetty, ”you shouldn't say that, Sylvia! Birchall is nice, but he isn't a patch upon Donald Macfarlane.”
”If you want to see Birchall, I will walk with you,” said f.a.n.n.y. ”You can't object to my doing that, can you?”
”We mean to run,” said Hetty.
”Oh no, you don't!” said f.a.n.n.y. Here she took Hetty's hand, pulled it violently through her arm. ”You've got to talk to me, both of you. I have something important I want to say.”
Sylvia laughed.