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The Rebel of the School, a fiction by L. T. Meade |
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Chapter 14. Ruth Resigns The Premiership |
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_ CHAPTER XIV. RUTH RESIGNS THE PREMIERSHIP The next morning Kathleen O'Hara was downstairs betimes. She ran into the kitchen and suggested to Maria that she should help her to toast the bread. Maria, who was somewhat lazy, and who had already begun to appreciate Kathleen's extreme good-nature, handed her the toasting-fork and pointed to a heap of bread which lay cut and ready for toasting on the deal table in the center of the kitchen. "Dear me, Miss Kathleen!" she said; "if only Miss Alice was as good-natured as you, why, the house would go on wheels." "I often helped the servants at home," said Kathleen. "Why isn't Alice good-natured?" "She's made contrairy, I expect, miss." "Cut on the cross, I call it," said cook, who came forward at this juncture and offered a chair to Kathleen. "Well, if that's the case I'm sorry for her," said Kathleen. "It must be very unpleasant to feel sort of peppery-and-salty and cross-grained all the time." "It isn't what you ever feel, miss," said cook with an admiring glance at the young lady. Kathleen fixed her deep-blue roguish eyes on the good woman's face. "No," she said, "I don't think I am cross-grained. By the way, cook, wouldn't you like a black silk apron embroidered with violets to wear when you have done all your dirty work in the kitchen?" "Cooks don't wear black silk aprons embroidered with violets," was the good woman's answer. "But this cook might, if a nice Irish girl, who has plenty of money, gave it to her. I have it in the bottom of my trunk. I asked Aunt Katie O'Flynn to send it to me for your mistress, but your mistress doesn't care for it. I will give it to you, cook.--And, Maria, I've got a little toque for you. It is sky-blue with forget-me-nots. Have you a young man, Maria? Most girls have, haven't they? Wouldn't you like to walk out with him in a sky-blue toque trimmed with forget-me-nots?" "It puts me all in a flutter to think of it, miss," said Maria. "I am sure a sweeter young lady never came into this house." Kathleen chatted on to the retainers, as she called cook and Maria, until she had toasted enough bread. She then went into the dining-room. Alice was there, looking pale and headachy. The day was a very cold one, and the fire was by no means bright. Kathleen's intensely rosy cheeks--for the fire had considerably scorched them--attracted Alice's attention. "I do wish you wouldn't do servant's work," she said. "You annoy me terribly by the way you go on." "Oh, don't be annoyed, darling," said Kathleen softly. "Just regard me as a necessary evil. You see, Alice, however cross you are, I'd have the others all on my side. There's your mother and David and Ben and the two servants. It isn't worth while, Alice. If they all like me, why shouldn't you?" Alice made no reply. Kathleen stood still for a moment; then she glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past eight. She must be out of the house in a little over a quarter of an hour if she was to meet Ruth Craven at the White Cross Corner. She sat down to the table, helped herself to a piece of toast, and spread some butter on it. "A cup of tea, please, Alice," she said.--"Oh, what letters are those? Any for me? David, if you give me a letter I'll--I'll love you ever so much. Ah, two! Dave, you are a treasure; you are a darling; you are everything that is exquisite." It was Alice's place to pour out the tea. She poured some out now, very unwillingly, for Kathleen, who drew the cup towards her, stirred it absently, and began to read her letters. Presently she uttered a little shriek. "It is from Aunt Katie O'Flynn, and she is crossing the Channel, the darling colleenoge. She is coming to London, and she wants me to see her. Oh, golloptious! What fun I shall have! Boys, aren't you delighted? It was Aunt Katie O'Flynn who sent me that wonderful trunk of clothes. Won't she give us a time now? I declare I scarcely know whether I'm on my head or my heels.--Alice, you'd best make yourself agreeable and join in the fun, for I can assure you it's theaters and concerts and teas and dinners and--oh! shopping, and every conceivable thing that can delight the heart of man or woman, boy or girl, that will be our portion while Aunt Katie--the duck, the darling, the treasure!--is in London. Let me see; what hotel is she going to? Oh, the Metropole. Where is the Metropole?" "In Northumberland Avenue. But, of course, we are not going up to London," said Alice. "We are only schoolgirls. We are at school and must mind our lessons. I am trying for my scholarship, and I mean to get it. And I don't suppose, even if your aunt is coming at a most inopportune time, that she is going to upset everything." "That remains to be proved," said Kathleen. "I am not going to have Aunt Katie so close to me without having my bit of fun. Oh, dear, dear! look at the time. I must be off." "Why are you going so early? It is only half-past eight." "I have business, darling--a friend to meet. Have you any objection?" Kathleen did not wait for Alice's answer. She dashed upstairs, and on the first landing she met Mrs. Tennant, who had been suffering from headache, and was in consequence a little late for breakfast. "Mrs. Tennant," shouted Kathleen, "I have the top of the morning as far as news is concerned. It is herself that is crossing the briny. She'll be in London to-night. Oh, did you ever hear of anything quite so scrumptious? But what's the matter, dear?" "Kathleen, I wish you wouldn't wear that really good dress going to school." "Is it my old lavender, and my old satin blouse?" said Kathleen, looking down at herself with a momentary glance. "Ah, then, my dear tired one, it isn't dresses I'll be thinking of when Aunt Katie is in London. She'll get me more than I can wear. She'll fig you all out, every one of you, if you like--you and Alice and David and Ben and cook and Maria. Maria is keeping company, she tells me, and would like a few fine clothes--naturally, the creature! Well, Mrs. Tennant, it's herself that is crossing, as I said; even now she is in the big steamer, coming nearer and nearer to England. Shan't we have fun when she arrives?" "You haven't told me who it is yet, dear." "Oh, darling, you haven't been listening. It is the dear woman who sent me the box full of new clothes--Aunt Katie O'Flynn, at your service. But there! I must be off. I'll think of it all day, and it will make me so happy." Kathleen dashed away to her own room, put on her outdoor things, and a moment or two later was running as fast as she could in the direction of the White Cross Corner. There she saw a silent, grave-looking girl, very quietly dressed, standing waiting for her. "Here I am," said Kathleen; "and here you stand, Ruth. And now, what have you got to say for yourself?" "I am sorry," said Ruth. "I thought when you sent Susy to me with your message that I might as well come here this morning; but I haven't changed my mind--not a bit of it." Kathleen's eyes, always extraordinarily dark for blue eyes, now grew almost black. A flash of real anger shot through them. "Don't you think it is rather mean," she said, "to give me up when you promised to belong to me--to give me up altogether and to go with those dreadful, proud paying girls?" "It isn't that," said Ruth, "and you know it. It is just this: I can't belong to two sides. Cassandra Weldon offers me an advantage which I dare not throw away. It is most essential to me to win the sixty-pounds scholarship. If I win it I shall be properly educated. When I leave school I'll be able to take the position my dear father, had he lived, would have wished for me. I shall be able to support granny and grandfather. You see for yourself, Kathleen, that I can't refuse it. It isn't a question of choice; it is a question of necessity. I love you. Kathleen--I will always love you and be faithful to you--but I can't give up the scholarship." "I don't want you to," said Kathleen; "but why shouldn't you belong to me and yet take the scholarship? I don't want you to be with me all the time. You can go to that horrible, detestable girl when it is necessary, and have your odious coach to post you up. But I want you more than anybody else. Don't you know how I love you? Can't you do both? Think it over, Ruth." "I have thought it over, and I can't do it. I would if I could, but it isn't to be done. It wouldn't be right to you, nor right to Cassandra." "Well, I think you are very mean; I think I hate you." Kathleen turned aside. She was impulsive, high-spirited, and defiant, but where her passions were concerned her heart was very soft. She burst into tears now and flung her arms around Ruth's neck. "I like a lot of people," she said--"I like Mrs. Tennant, and even Susy, although she's not up to much, and two or three other girls--but I only _love_ you. In the whole of England I only love you, and you are going to give me up." "No; I will still be your friend." "But you have refused to join my society; you have refused to belong to the Wild Irish Girls." "I can't help myself." "But you promised." "I know I did. I made a mistake. Kathleen, there is no help for it. I shall love you even if I don't belong to the society. Now there is nothing more to be said." Ruth disentangled herself from Kathleen's embrace, and putting wings to her feet, ran in the direction of the school. Kathleen stood just where she had left her; over her face was passing a rapid and curious change. "Do I love her any longer?" she said to herself. "Oh, I think--I think I love her still. But she has slighted me. She will be sorry some day. Oh, dear! The only girl in the whole of England that I love has slighted me. She has thrown ridicule upon me. She said that she would be my Prime Minister, and she has resigned everything for that horrible Cassandra. She will be sorry yet; I know she will." _ |
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