Part 33 (1/2)
Olive, the Bertrams, Susie, Martha, Margaret herself, looked full of trouble. f.a.n.n.y's cheeks were pink with excitement. She had never liked Betty. In her heart of hearts she knew that she was full of uncharitable thoughts against her own cousin. And how was it, notwithstanding Betty's ign.o.ble confession, the other girls still loved her?
”What do you intend to do, supposing she does not confess?” said f.a.n.n.y after a pause.
”In that case,” answered Margaret, ”having due regard to the rules of the club, I fear we have no alternative--she must resign her members.h.i.+p, she must cease to be a Speciality. We shall miss her, and beyond doubt we shall still love her. But she must not continue to be a Speciality unless she restores the packet.”
f.a.n.n.y simulated a slight yawn. She knew well that Betty's days as a Speciality were numbered.
”She was so brilliant, so vivid!” exclaimed Susie.
”There was no one like her,” said Olive, ”for suggesting all kinds of lovely things. And then her story-telling--wasn't she just glorious!”
”We mustn't think of any of those things,” said Margaret. ”But I think we may all pray--yes, pray--for Betty herself. I, for one, love her dearly. I love her notwithstanding what she said to-night.”
”I think it was uncommonly plucky of her to stand up and tell us what she did,” remarked Martha, speaking for the first time. ”She needn't have done it, you know. It was entirely a case of conscience.”
”Yes, that is it; it was fine of her,” said Margaret. ”Now, girls, suppose we have a Speciality meeting to-morrow night? You know by our rules we are allowed to have particular meetings. I will give my room for the purpose; and suppose we ask Betty to join us there?”
”Agreed!” said they all; and after a little more conversation the Specialities separated, having no room in their hearts for games or any other frivolous nonsense that evening.
CHAPTER XVI
AFTERWARDS
When Betty had made her confession, and had left Susie Rushworth's room, she went straight to bed; she went without leave, and dropped immediately into profound slumber. When she awoke in the morning her head felt clear and light, and she experienced a sense of rejoicing at what she had done.
”I have told them, and they know,” she said to herself. ”I have given them the whole story in a nutsh.e.l.l. I don't really care what follows.”
Mingled with her feeling of rejoicing was a curious sense of defiance.
Her sisters asked her what was the matter. She said ”Nothing.” They remarked on her sound sleep of the night before, on the early time she had retired from the Specialities' meeting. They again ventured to ask if anything was the matter. She said ”No.”
Then Sylvia began to break a very painful piece of information: ”d.i.c.kie's gone!”
”Oh,” said Betty, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng with anger, ”how can you possibly have been so careless as to let the spider loose?”
”He found a little hole just above the door in the attic, and crept into it, and we couldn't get him out,” said Sylvia.
”No, he wouldn't come out,” added Hetty, ”though we climbed on two chairs, one on top of the other, and poked at him with a bit of stick.”
”Oh, I dare say he's all right now,” said Betty. ”You will probably find him again to-day. He's sure to come for his raw meat.”
”But don't you care, Bet? Won't it be truly awful if our own d.i.c.kie is dead?”
”Dead! He won't die,” said Betty; ”but there's quite a possibility he may frighten some one. I know one person I'd like to frighten.”
”Oh Bet, who do you mean?”
”That horrid girl--that cousin of ours, f.a.n.n.y Crawford.”
”We don't like her either,” said the twins.