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Meanwhile Merry, who was equally delighted to find herself by Maggie’s side, began to talk to her in a low tone.

“You don’t look very well, Mags,” she said – “not nearly as robust as when I saw you last; and you never wrote to me after that first letter.”

“I have a great deal I want to tell you,” said Maggie in a low tone. “Lucy is quite right; there are no lessons of any sort this evening. Mrs. Ward always gives us the first evening to settle and to get perfectly at home in, so we shall be able to chatter to our heart’s content. This is going to be a glorious night, and we can walk about in the garden.”

“But won’t there be a lot of other people in the garden?” asked Merry.

“Why, of course,” said Maggie in a surprised tone. “I suppose we’ll all be there.”

“We can’t talk any secrets, if that is what you mean,” said Merry, “for the garden is so very small.”

Maggie laughed. “That’s because you are accustomed to Meredith Manor,” she said. “Anyhow,” she continued, dropping her voice, “I must talk to you. I have a great, great deal to say, and you’ll have to listen.”

“Of course I will listen, dear,” said Merry.

Rosamond Dacre now joined in, and the conversation became general. Henrietta and Mary Gibson had a very agreeable way of describing things. Maggie felt herself reinstated in the life she loved; Merry, the girl she cared for best, was by her side, and she would not have had a single thorn in the flesh but for the presence of Aneta.

It has been said that in this school there were two girls who held considerable sway over their companions. One of them was Aneta Lysle, the other Maggie Howland. Aneta had, of course, far and away the greater number of girls under her spell, if such a word could describe her high and noble influence over them. But Maggie had her own friends, among whom were Rosamond Dacre, Kathleen O’Donnell, Matty and Clara Roache, and Janet Burns. All these girls were fairly nice, but not so high-bred and not so noble in tone as the girls who devoted themselves to Aneta. Kathleen was, indeed, altogether charming; she was the romp of the school and the darting of every one. But Rosamond Dacre was decidedly morose and sulky. She was clever, and on this account her mistresses liked her; but she was a truly difficult girl to deal with, being more or less shut up within herself, and disinclined to true friendship with any one. She liked Kathleen O’Donnell, however, and Kathleen adored Maggie. Rosamond was, therefore, considered to be on Maggie’s side of the school. Matty and Clara Roache were quite ordinary, everyday sort of girls, neither very good-looking nor the reverse, neither specially clever nor specially stupid. Their greatest friend was Janet Burns, a handsome little girl with a very lofty brow, calm, clear gray eyes, and a passionate adoration for Maggie Howland. Matty and Clara would follow Janet to the world’s end, and, as Janet adhered to Maggie, they were also on Maggie’s side.

Maggie naturally expected to add to the numbers of her special adherents her own two friends, the Tristrams. She felt she could easily have won Merry also to join, the ranks of adorers; but then it suddenly occurred to her that her friendship for Merry should be even more subtle than the ordinary friendship that an ordinary girl who is queen at school gives to her fellows. She did not dare to defy Aneta. Merry must outwardly belong to Aneta, but if her heart was Maggie’s what else mattered?

When tea was over several of the girls drifted into the garden, where they walked in twos, discussing their holidays, their old friends, and the time which was just coming. There was not a trace of unhappiness in any face. The whole atmosphere of the place seemed to breathe peace and goodwill.

Aneta and Cicely, with some of Aneta’s own friends, two girls of the name of Armitage – Anne and Jessie – and a very graceful girl called Sylvia St. John, walked up and down talking quietly together for some little time.

Then Cicely looked eagerly round her. “I can’t see Merry anywhere,” she remarked.

“She is all right, dear, I am sure,” said Aneta. But Aneta in her inmost heart did not think so. She was, however, far too prudent to say a word to make her cousin Cicely uneasy.

Meanwhile Maggie and Merry had found a cosy corner for themselves in one of the conservatories. They sat side by side in two little garden-chairs.

“Well, you’ve come!” said Maggie. “I have carried out my design. My heart’s desire is satisfied.”

“Oh, how sweet you are, Maggie!” said Merry. “I have missed you so much!” she added. “I have so often wished for you!”

“Do you really love me?” asked Maggie, looking at Merry in her queer, abrupt manner.

“You know I do,” said Merry.

“Well,” said Maggie, “there are a great many girls in the school who love me very dearly.”

“It is easy to perceive that,” said Merry. “Why, Maggie, at tea-time that handsome little Irish girl – Kathleen you call her – couldn’t take her eyes off you.”

“Oh, Kitty,” said Maggie. “Yes, she is on my side.”

“What do you mean by your side?”

“Well, of course I have told you – haven’t I? – that there are two of us in this school who are more looked up to than the others. It seems very conceited for me to say that I happen to be one. Of course I am not a patch on Aneta; I know that perfectly well.”

“Aneta is a darling,” said Merry; “and she is my own cousin; but” – she dropped her voice – “Maggie, somehow, I can’t help loving you best.”

“Oh,” said Maggie with a start, “is that true?”

“It is! it is!”

Maggie was silent for a minute. At the end of that time she said very gently, “You won’t be hurt at something I want to tell you?”

“Hurt! No,” said Merry; “why should I be?”

“Well, it is just this: Aneta is frightfully jealous of me.”

“Oh! I don’t believe it,” said Merry indignantly. “It isn’t in her nature to be jealous. It’s very low-minded to be jealous.”

“There is no school,” said Maggie, “where jealousy does not abound. There is no life into which jealousy does not enter. The world itself is made up of jealous people. Aneta is jealous of me, and I – I am jealous of her.”

“Oh, Maggie dear, you must not, and you ought not to be jealous of Aneta! She thinks so kindly, so sweetly of every one.”

“She loves you,” said Maggie. “You just go and tell her how much you care for me, that you love me better than you love her, and see how she will take it.”

“But I wouldn’t tell her that,” said little Merry, “for it would hurt her.”

“There!” said Maggie with a laugh; “and yet you pretend that you don’t think her jealous.”

“She will never be jealous of me, for I’ll never give her cause – dear Aneta!” said Merry.

Maggie was again silent and thoughtful for a few minutes. “Listen to me, Merry,” she said. “In this school the girls follow the queens. If I wanted to make Aneta Lysle really mad with jealousy I’d get you over to me; but – don’t speak for a minute – I won’t get you over to me. You shall stay at school and be on Aneta’s side.”

“I suppose – I suppose I ought,” said Merry in a faint voice.

“You must – you must be on Aneta’s side of the school, and so must Cicely; but you can, all the same, love me best.”

“Can I?” said Merry, brightening up. “Then, if I can, I sha’n’t mind a bit.”

Maggie patted her hand very gently. “You can, Merry; and you can help me. You will always take my part, won’t you?”

“Indeed – indeed I will! But it won’t be necessary.”

“It may be,” said Maggie very earnestly. “Promise that, if the time comes, you will take my part.”

“I promise, of course. What can be the matter with you, Maggie? You don’t look a bit yourself.”

Maggie did not at once reply. “I shall have a great deal to do this term,” she said after a pause; “and my party in the school won’t be so weak after all. There’ll be Rosamond Dacre–”

“I didn’t very much like Rosamond,” said Merry, speaking in a low voice.

“Oh, she is excellent fun when you know her,” said Maggie; “but as she won’t be on your side, nor in your form, you are not likely to have much to do with her. Then Matty and Clara are first-rate, and they’re mine too; and Kathleen O’Donnell is a perfect brick; and Janet Burns, she’s as strong as they make ’em. Of course the Tristrams will belong to me. Let me see: Tristrams, two; Rosamond, three; Kathleen, four; Matty and Clara, six; Janet, seven. Ah, well, I am quite in the minority. Aneta carries off eleven girls as her share.”

“Don’t be sad about it, Maggie. Surely we might all be one in the school! Why should there be parties?” said Merry.

“Little you know, Merry, how impossible school-life would be without parties, and great friends, and medium friends, and favorites, and enemies. Why, Merry, school is a little world, and the world is made up of elements such as these.”

“Tell me,” said Merry after a pause, “what you did after you left us.”

Maggie colored. “Oh, stayed for a time in that horrid Shepherd’s Bush.”

“In those fusty, musty lodgings?” said Merry.

“Yes, and they were fusty, musty.”

“Oh dear! I am sorry for you. We had such a glorious time!”

“I know it, dear; but glorious times don’t come to girls like me.”

“Why, are you so very, very sad, Maggie? Oh, now I know – of course I know. I didn’t like to write to you about it, for it seemed to me quite – you will forgive me, won’t you? – quite dreadful that your mother should have married again. Is she married yet, Maggie?”

Maggie nodded.

“Oh, I can sympathize with you, dear Maggie! It must be so fearful to have a stepfather!”

“It is,” said Maggie.

“Is he a nice man, Maggie? Or would you rather I didn’t speak of him?”

“No; you may speak of him if you like. He is a rich man – he is very rich.”

“I am glad of that at any rate,” said Merry. “You will never be in fusty, musty lodgings any more.”

“Oh no, never! My mother’s husband – I cannot speak of him as my stepfather – will see to that.”

“What is his name?”

Maggie hesitated. Not for the world would she have let any of her schoolfellows know the real position; but she could not very well conceal her stepfather’s name.

“Martin,” she said.

“Spelt with a ‘y’? We know some awfully nice Martyns. They live about twenty miles away from Meredith Manor. I wonder if your Mr. Martyn is related to them.”

“Oh, very likely,” said Maggie.

“Then perhaps you will go to stay with them – your mother, and your – your mother’s husband, and you too; and we’ll all meet. They live at a place-called The Meadows. It isn’t as old or as beautiful as our Manor, but it’s a sweet place, and the girls are so nice you’ll be sure to like them.”

“Yes, I dare say I shall,” said Maggie, who didn’t care to contradict Merry’s innocent ideas with regard to her mother’s marriage.

“Well, I am glad,” said Merry, “that your dear mother has married a rich gentleman. Has he a country place of his own?”

“Of course he has,” said Maggie, who felt that she could at least utter these words with truth.

“And is it far, far from London, or quite in the country?”

“It is,” said Maggie, “in – in the Norwood direction.”

This remark made no impression whatever on Merry, who had not the least idea where the Norwood direction was. But by-and-by, when she parted from Maggie and joined her sister and Aneta, she said, “I have a piece of rather good news to tell about dear Maggie Howland. She won’t be poor any more.”

“That is a word we never discuss at school,” said Aneta.

“Well, we needn’t after to-night,” said Merry with a slight touch of irritation in her manner. “But although I haven’t the faintest idea what poverty means, I think poor Maggie knows a good deal about it. Well, she won’t have anything to do with it in future, for her mother has just married again.”

“Oh!” said Aneta, with a show of interest.

“Yes; and a very nice gentleman he must be. He is a cousin of the Martyns of The Meadows. You know how you liked them when we spent a day there during these holidays – didn’t you, Aneta?”

“Yes,” said Aneta, “most charming people. I felt quite sorry that the Martyn girls were too old for school. I wonder they didn’t mention the fact of their cousin being about to marry Mrs. Howland; for you know we were talking of Maggie to them, or at least you were, Merry.”

“Of course I was,” said Merry in a determined voice. “I am very, very fond of Maggie Howland.”

“Perhaps we had better go to bed now,” said Aneta. “I may as well tell you, girls, that we have to get up at half-past six. Lucy comes to us and wakes us at that hour, and we are expected to be downstairs at seven. Lucy will tell you, too, girls, that it is expected of us all that we shall keep our rooms in perfect order. Now, shall we say good-night?”

The Cardews kissed their cousin and went to their own pleasant room.

As soon as they were there Merry said, “Cicely, I am glad about poor Maggie.”

“And so am I,” said Cicely.

“When we write home we must be sure to mention to mother about Mr. Martyn. I don’t think dear Maggie knew anything about The Meadows; so perhaps, after all, he is a somewhat distant cousin; but it is such a comfort to know that he is rich and a gentleman.”

“Yes,” said Cicely. Then she added, “I don’t think Aneta wants you to make too great a friend of Maggie Howland.”

“Oh, nonsense!” said Merry, coloring slightly. “I am never going to give Maggie up, for I love her dearly.”

“Of course,” said Cicely, “it would be very mean to give her up; but you and I, as Aneta’s cousins, must be on her side in the school. What I am afraid of is that Maggie will try to induce you to join her set.”

“That shows how little you know her,” said Merry, roused to the defensive. “She explained everything to me this afternoon, and said that I certainly must belong to Aneta.”

“Did she? Well, I call that splendid,” said Cicely.

CHAPTER XVI.
BO-PEEP

When Aneta found herself alone that evening she stayed for a short time thinking very deeply. She felt a queer sense of responsibility with regard to the Cardews. If Maggie imagined that it was through her influence they had come to Aylmer House, Aneta was positive that they would never have entered the school but for her and her aunt, Lady Lysle. Besides, they were her very own cousins, and she loved them both dearly. She was not especially anxious about Cicely, who was a more ordinary and less enthusiastic girl than Merry; but about Merry she had some qualms. There was no doubt whatever that the girl was attracted by Maggie; and, in Aneta’s opinion, Maggie Howland was in no sense of the word a proper companion for her.

Aneta, as she sat calmly by her open window – for it was not necessary to hurry to bed to-night – thought much over the future which spread itself immediately in front of her and her companions. She was naturally a very reserved girl. She was born with that exclusiveness and reserve which a distinguished class bestows upon those who belong to it. But she had in her heart very wide sympathies; and, like many another girl in her position, she could be kind to the poor, philanthropic to the last degree to those in real distress, denying herself for the sake of those who wanted bread. Towards girls, however, who were only a trifle below her in the social scale she could be arbitrary, haughty, and strangely wanting in sympathy. Maggie Howland was exactly the sort of girl who repelled Aneta. Nevertheless, she was a member of the school; and not only was she a member of the school, but a very special member. Had she even been Janet Burns (who was so clever, and as far as learning was concerned carried all before her), or had she been as brilliant and witty as Kathleen O’Donnell, Aneta would not have troubled herself much over her. But Maggie was possessed of a curious sense of power which was hers by heritage, which her father had possessed before her, and which caused him – one of the least prepossessing and yet one of the most distinguished men of his day – to be worshipped wherever he went. This power was greater than beauty, greater than birth, greater than genius. Maggie had it, and used it to such effect that she and Aneta divided the school between them. Aneta was never quite certain whether some of her special friends would not leave her and go over to Maggie’s side; but she felt that she did not greatly care about this, provided she could keep Merry and Cicely altogether to herself.

After thinking for a little time she sprang to her feet, and going to the electric bell, sounded it. After a short delay a servant appeared.

“Mary,” said Aneta, “will you have the goodness to ask Miss Lucy if I may speak to her for a minute?”

“Yes, miss,” replied Mary, closing the door behind her in her usual noiseless fashion.

In a very few minutes Miss Johnson entered Aneta’s room.

“I was just thinking of going to bed, dear,” said that good-natured young woman. “Can I do anything for you?”

“I only want to say something to you, Lucy.”

“What is it, my love? I do not like to see that our dear Aneta looks worried, but your face almost wears that expression.”

“Well,” said Aneta, “it is just this: I am a trifle worried about a matter which I hope I may set right. It is against the rules for girls to leave their rooms after they have gone to them for the night, and it would never do for me to be the first to break a rule at Aylmer House. Nevertheless, I do want to break it. May I, Miss Lucy?”

“Well, Aneta, I do not think that there’ll be the slightest difficulty, for we don’t really begin school till to-morrow. What do you wish to do, dear?”

“I want to go and visit one of my schoolmates, and stay with her for a time.”

“Of course you may go, Aneta. I give you permission; but don’t remain too long, for we get up early to-morrow, as to-morrow school really begins.”

“I won’t remain a minute longer than I can help. Thank you, Lucy,” said Aneta.

Miss Johnson kissed her pupil and left the room.

A minute later Aneta Lysle was running down the corridor in the direction of the bedroom occupied by Maggie Howland. It was some distance from her own room. She knocked at the door. She guessed somehow that Maggie would be still up.

Maggie said, “Come in,” and Aneta entered.

Maggie was in a white dressing-gown, with her thick, handsome hair falling below her waist. Her hair was her strongest point, and she looked for the time being almost pretty.

“What do you want, Aneta?” she said.

“To speak to you, Maggie.”

“But it’s against the rules,” said Maggie, drawling out her words a little, and giving Aneta a defiant glance.

“No,” said Aneta. “I asked for permission to come and see you, and I have obtained it.”

“Well, sit down, won’t you?” said Maggie.

Aneta availed herself of the invitation, and took a chair.

Maggie remained standing.

“Won’t you sit too, Maggie?” said Aneta.

“I don’t particularly want to, but I will if you insist on it. To tell the truth, I am a little sleepy. You won’t keep me long, will you?”

“That depends on yourself.”

Maggie opened her narrow eyes. Then she contracted them and looked fixedly at her companion. “Have you come here to talk about Merry Cardew?”

“Yes, about her, and other matters.”

“Don’t you trust me at all, Aneta?”

Aneta looked full up at the girl. “No, Maggie,” she said.

“Do you think when you say so that you speak kindly?”

“I am afraid I don’t, but I can’t help myself,” said Aneta.

Maggie gave a faint yawn. She was, in reality, far too interested to be really sleepy. Suddenly she dropped into a sitting position on the floor. “You have me,” she said, “in the hollow of your hand. Do you mean to crush me? What have I done that you should hate me so much?”

“I never said I hated you,” said Aneta. “I don’t hate you, but I am exceedingly anxious that you should not have any influence over my two young cousins who came here to-day.”

“I thought we discussed that when you were staying at Meredith Manor,” said Maggie. “You made me unhappy enough then, but I gave you my promise.”

“I was sorry to make you unhappy, Maggie; and you did give me your promise; but I have come here to-day to know why you have broken it.”

“Broken it!” said Maggie. “Broken it!”

“Don’t you understand me?” said Aneta. “You and Merry were together the greater part of the evening, and even Cicely wondered where her sister was. Why did you do it?”

“Merry is my friend,” said Maggie.

“I don’t wish her to be your friend.”

“I am afraid you can’t help it,” said Maggie. She looked a little insolent, and round her mouth there came a dogged expression. After a minute she said, “I did want to talk to Merry to-night; but, at the same time, I most undoubtedly did not forget my promise to you. I explained to Merry what I think she already knew: that there were two girls in the school who greatly influence their fellows; in short, that you and I are the two queens of the school. But I said that, compared to you, I had a comparatively small number of subjects. Merry was interested, and asked questions, and then I most particularly explained to her that, although I knew well she cared for me, and I cared for her, she was to be on your side in the school. If you don’t believe me, you have but to ask Merry herself.”

“I have no reason not to believe you, Maggie,” said Aneta, “and I am relieved that you have spoken as you did to Merry. But now I want to say something else. I have thought of it a good deal during the holidays, and I am firmly convinced that this taking sides, or rather making parties, in a school is pernicious, especially in such a small school as ours. I am willing to give up my queendom, if you, on your part, will give yours up. I want us all to be in unity – every one of us – all striving for the good of the school and for the happiness and welfare each of the other. If you will agree to this I will myself speak to Mrs. Ward to-morrow.”

“Mrs. Ward!” said Maggie. “What has she to do with it?”

“I want to consult with her, so that she may be the queen of the school – not one girl or two girls. She is so clever, so young, so resourceful, that she will more than make up to us for the little we lose in this matter. But, of course, there is no manner of use in my resigning my queendom if you won’t resign yours.”

“I will never do it,” said Maggie – “never! Two queens in the school means little or nothing at all. All it does mean is that I have special friends whom I can influence, and whom I love to influence, and you have special friends whom you love to influence. Well, go on influencing them as hard as ever you can, and I will do the same with my friends. Your cousins will belong to you. I could, I believe, have won Merry Cardew to my side, but I am not going to do so.”

“It would be very unwise of you,” said Aneta in a low tone. “Very well, Maggie,” she added after a pause, “if you won’t give up being queen in the minds of a certain number of girls, I must, of course, continue my influence on the other side. It’s a great pity, for we might all work together.”

“We never could work together,” said Maggie with passion. “It is but to talk to you, Aneta, to know how you despise and hate me.”

“I neither despise nor hate you, Maggie.”

“Well, I despise and hate you, so I suppose it comes to the same thing.”

“I am very, very sorry, Maggie. Some day, perhaps, you will know me as I really am.”

“I know you now as you really are – eaten up with pride of birth, and with no sympathy at all for girls a trifle poorer than yourself.”

“You speak with cruelty, and I am sorry.”

To Aneta’s astonishment, Maggie’s face underwent a queer change. It puckered up in an alarming manner, and the next moment the girl burst into tears.

The sight of Maggie’s tears immediately changed Aneta Lysle’s attitude. Those tears were genuine. Whether they were caused by anger or by sorrow she did not stop to discriminate. The next minute she was down on her knees by the other girl and had swept her young arms round Maggie’s neck.

“Maggie, Maggie, what is it? Oh, if you would only understand me!”

“Don’t! – don’t touch me!” said Maggie. “I am a miserable girl!”

“And I have hurt you, poor Maggie!” said Aneta. “Oh, I am terribly sorry! Sit here now, and let me comfort you.”

“Oh! I can’t, Aneta. You don’t understand me – not a bit.”

“Better than you think, perhaps; and I am terribly sorry you are troubled. Oh, perhaps I know. I was told to-night that your mother had married again. You are unhappy about that?”

Maggie immediately dried her fast-falling tears. She felt that she was in danger. If Aneta found out, or if Mrs. Ward found out, who Maggie’s stepfather was, she would certainly not be allowed to stay at Aylmer House. This was her dread of all dreads, and she had so managed matters with her mother that Mrs. Ward knew nothing at all of Mrs. Howland’s change of name.

“Yes, my mother is married again,” said Maggie. “She is a rich woman now; but the fact is, I dearly loved my own father, and – it hurt me very much to see another put into his place.”

“Of course it did,” said Aneta, with deep sympathy; “it would have driven me nearly wild. Does Mrs. Ward know that your mother is married again, Maggie?”

“Well, I haven’t told her; and, please, Aneta, will you promise me not to do so?”

“But is there any occasion to keep it a secret, dear?”

“I would so much rather she did not know. She received me here as Maggie Howland. I am Maggie Howland still; my mother having changed her name makes no difference, except, indeed, that she is very well off, whereas she was poor.”

“Well, that of course is a comfort to you,” said Aneta. “Perhaps by-and-by you will learn to be glad that your mother has secured the care of a good husband. I am told that she has married one of those very nice Martyns who live in Warwickshire. Is that true?”

Maggie nodded. She hated herself after she had given that inclination of her head; but she had done it now, and must abide by it. To own Martin the grocer as a stepfather was beyond her power.

Aneta did not think it specially necessary to worry about Maggie’s mother and her new husband. She said that the whole thing was Maggie’s own affair; and, after trying to comfort the girl for a little longer, she kissed Maggie, and went to her own room. When there, she went at once to bed and fell fast asleep.

But Maggie sat for a long time by her open window. “What an awful and ridiculous position I have put myself in!” she thought. “The Martyns of The Meadows and Bo-peep of Laburnum Villa to be connected! I could almost scream with laughter if I were not also inclined to scream with terror. What an awful idea to get into people’s heads, and now I have, confirmed it! Of course I shall be found out, and things will be worse than ever.”

Before Maggie went to bed she sat down and wrote a brief note to her mother. She addressed it when written to Mrs. Martyn (spelt with a “y”), Laburnum Villa, Clapham. Maggie had seen Laburnum Villa, and regarded it as one of the most poky suburban residences she had ever had the pleasure of entering. The whole house was odiously cheap and common, and in her heart poor Maggie preferred Tildy and Mrs. Ross, and the fusty, musty lodgings at Shepherd’s Bush.

Her note to her mother was very brief:

“I am back at school, and quite happy. Tell Mr. Martin, if he should happen to write to me, to spell his name with a ‘y,’ and please spell your name with a ‘y.’ Please tell Mr. Martin that I will explain the reason of this when we meet. He is so good to me, I don’t know how to thank him enough.”

Maggie managed the next day to post this letter unknown to her fellows, and in course of time a remarkable post-card arrived for her. It was dated from Laburnum Villa, Clapham, and was written in a sprawly but business-like hand:

“No ‘y’s’ for me, thank you. – Bo-peep.”

Very fortunately, Maggie received her card when none of her schoolfellows were present; but it was certainly the reverse of reassuring.