Chapter 13. An Invitation

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_ CHAPTER XIII. AN INVITATION

The holidays had come to an end, and the girls were returning to the school. The three who were to compete for Sir John's Scholarship had special desks assigned to them, were instructed by special teachers, and were looked upon with intense respect by the rest of the school. The holidays had gone by and had been pleasant, for Mrs. Aylmer had written to Mrs. Clavering to beg of her to take her niece Florence for a week's change on the seaside, and Mrs. Clavering had insisted on Kitty accompanying them, and, as Mrs. Aylmer paid the greater part of the expenses, the girls had a good time.

Mrs. Aylmer now wrote twice a week, if not to Florence herself, at least to Mrs. Clavering; and Mrs. Clavering had to alter her views with regard to Florence, to give her every advantage possible, and to look upon her with a certain amount of respect.

"It certainly is most important that you should get that Scholarship," she said once to the young girl. "Mrs. Aylmer has explained the whole position to me, but then you won't get it, Florence, unless you earn it."

"I know that," said Florence.

"And Kitty has an equal chance with you. I think Kitty is a remarkably intelligent girl. It is just as important for her to get it as it is for you, you quite understand that?"

"Oh, I quite understand," said Florence.

"Then there is also Mary Bateman. Mary has not as brilliant an intellect as Kitty, and in some ways is not as scholarly as you are, Florence, but she is very plodding and persevering, and as a rule gets to the head of her class. Mary is neither rich nor poor, but she would be very glad of the Scholarship, and says that it would give her father and mother great happiness if she obtained it; so you see, dear, you three girls are to work for the same goal--it is almost as important to one of you as to another. I want you therefore to be perfectly fair in your dealings each with the other, and to try to keep envy and all ill-feeling out of your hearts. The one who wins this great generous offer of Sir John Wallis must not think more highly of herself than she ought, and those who lose must bear their loss with resignation, feeling that they have acquired a great deal of knowledge, even if they have not acquired anything else, and trying to rejoice in the success of the one who has succeeded. The next few months until October will be a time of strain, and I hope my dear girls will be equal to the occasion."

Florence got very red while Mrs. Clavering was speaking to her. "Sometimes----" she said, in a low voice, and then she paused and her tone faltered.

"What is it, Florence?"

"Sometimes I heartily wish that Sir John had not put this great thing in my way. Last term I was poor and had shabby clothes, and no one thought a great deal of me, but in some ways I feel less happy now than I did last term. Last term, for instance, I was very fond of Kitty Sharston and I liked Mary Bateman, but there are moments now when I almost hate both of them."

"It is brave of you to confess all this, Florence, and I think none the worse of you for doing so, and if you pray against this feeling it will not increase, dear. Now go away and prepare for your French paper. By the way, a special master is coming twice a week now to coach all three of you. This has been done by Sir John Wallis's orders. Go away now, dear, and work."

The one great subject of conversation in the school was the Cherry Court Scholarship, and the lucky three were looked upon with wonder and a little envy by their less fortunate companions, for their privileges were so great and the goal set before them so high. For instance, Mrs. Clavering had so contrived matters that the three could work at their special Scholarship studies in the oak parlor. She had given each girl a desk with a lock and key, where she could keep her different themes and exercises. They had a special master to teach them deportment in all its different branches, and once a week they spent an evening in Mrs. Clavering's drawing-room, where special guests were invited to see them.

On these occasions the young girls had to act turn about as hostess, pouring out tea, receiving the visitors, seeing them out again, and entering into what was considered in the early seventies polite conversation. The almost lost art of conversation was as far as possible revived during the time of Scholarship competition, and in order to give Kitty, Florence, and Mary greater opportunities of talking over the events of the day they were obliged to read the Times every morning for an hour.

Their companions, those of the Upper school, were invited to assemble in the drawing-room on the occasions of the weekly conversazione, as it was called, and a special subject was then introduced, which the girls were obliged to handle as deftly and as well as they could.

As to conduct marks, there was nothing said about conduct, and no one put down those marks except the head mistress herself. Florence sometimes trembled when she met her eyes. She wondered if those calm grey eyes could read through down into her secret soul, could guess that she herself was unworthy, that she had committed a deed which ought really to exclude her from all chance of winning the Scholarship. Then, as the days went on, Florence's conscience became a little hardened, and she was less and less troubled by what she had done with regard to Kitty Sharston.

Florence's change in circumstances were much commented upon by the other girls, and there is no doubt that in her neatly-fitting dress with her abundant pocket-money she did appear a more gracious and a more agreeable girl than she had done in the old days when her frock was shabby, her pinafore ugly, her pocket-money almost nil.

One of the first things she did on her arrival at the school was to present Kitty Sharston with a white work-bag embroidered with cherries in crewel-stitch, and with a cherry-colored ribbon running through it. She had spent from five to six shillings on the bag, and had denied herself a little to purchase it.

Kitty received it with rapture, and used to bring it into Mrs. Clavering's drawing-room on the company evenings, and to show it with pride to her companions as Florence's gift.

"She had never had such a pretty bag in her life," she said, and she kissed Florence many times when she presented it to her.

Florence meant it as payment for the cherry-colored ribbons, but she did not mean it as payment for what she had stolen out of Kitty's desk. She knew that nothing could ever pay for that deed; but it comforted her conscience just a little to present the bag to Kitty.

The Scholarship was to be competed for on the thirtieth of October, and the girls reassembled at Cherry Court School about the fifteenth of August.

Three weeks after the school had recommenced, some time therefore in the first week in September, Mary Bateman, who had been bending for a long time over her desk with her hands pressed to her temples and her cheeks somewhat flushed, suddenly raised her eyes and encountered the fixed stare of Kitty Sharston. Kitty had done her work and was leaning back in her chair. Kitty's sweet pale face looked a little paler than usual. She was expecting a letter from her father, and on the week when the letter was to arrive she always looked a little paler and a little more anxious than she did at other times.

"Have you finished your theme?" said Mary, abruptly.

"Yes," answered Kitty.

"You write so easily," pursued Mary, in a somewhat discontented voice; "you never seem to have to think for words. Now, I am not at all good at composition."

"I am not at all good at other things," replied Kitty, in a gentle voice; "mathematics, for instance; and as to my arithmetic, it is shameful. Father wants me to be able to keep accounts very well for him. I shall do that when I go to India, but still I have no ability for that sort of thing--none whatever."

"How much you must love your father," said Mary.

"Love him!" answered Kitty. Her color changed, a flush of red rose into her cheeks, leaving them the next moment more pallid than ever.

"You don't look very strong," pursued Mary, who had a blunt downright sort of manner; "I wonder if India will agree with you; I wonder if you will really go to India."

"Why do you say that?" answered Kitty, impatiently, "when it is the one dream, the one hope of my life. Of course I shall go to India. I shall do that in any case," she added sotto voce.

"It is so strange all about this Scholarship," continued Mary, in an uneasy voice, "that we three should long for it so earnestly, and yet each feel that two others will be more or less injured if we win it."

"Don't let us talk of it," said Kitty. "I--I must get it."

"And I must get it," pursued Mary, "and yet perhaps it means a little less to me than it does to you and Florence. Florence is the one likely to win it, I am sure."

Kitty's face turned white again and her little hand trembled.

"I must get it," she said, in a restless voice. "I don't think I am selfish--I try not to be, and I would do anything for you, Mary, and anything for Florence; but--but I can't give up the Scholarship: it means too much."

She shivered slightly.

At that moment Florence entered the room. She sat down at her desk, unlocked it, and took out her papers. She was just about to commence her study--for the Scholarship study was all extra, and had to be done in odd hours and moments--when, glancing up, she met the disturbed and questioning gaze of Kitty Sharston.

"Look here," said Kitty, "we three are alone now; let us have a good talk, just once, if never again. Why do you want to get the Scholarship, Mary? Why?"

"Why do I want to get it?" said Mary.

"Oh, I wish to work now; if you mean to discuss that point I had better leave the room," said Florence.

"No, no, do stay, Flo; I won't be more than a moment. I want to understand things, that's all," said Kitty. "Please, Mary, say why is the Scholarship of great importance to you."

"Well, for several reasons," replied Mary. "I am not like you, Florence, and I am not like you, Kitty. I have got both a father and mother. My father is a clergyman; there are nine other children besides me--I am the third. It was extremely difficult for father to send me to this expensive school, but he felt that education was the one thing necessary for me. Father is a very advanced, liberal-minded man; he is before his time, so everyone says; but mother does not think it necessary that girls should know too much. Mother thinks that a girl ought to be purely domestic; she is very particular about needlework, and she would like every girl to be able to make a shirt well, and to be able to cook and preserve, and know a little about gardening, and know a great deal about keeping a house in perfect order. But father says, and very rightly, that every girl cannot marry, and that the girls who do not marry cannot want to know a great deal about keeping a house in order, and that such girls, unless they have fortunes left to them, will have to earn their own living. Of course, there are very few openings for women, and most women have to teach, so it is decided that I shall teach by and by. If marriage comes, all right, but if it does not come I shall earn my living as a governess.

"Now, to be a really good governess father wants me to be very well educated, and he is spending the little money that he might have left to me when he died in sending me to this good school. Whether I get the Scholarship or not, I shall remain at the school for three years. I am fifteen now; I shall remain here until I am eighteen. If I do get the Scholarship father means to save the money that the three years' schooling would cost, and he means to send me when I return home at the age of eighteen to a wonderful new College for Women which has been established at a place called Girton. He will spend the money which he would have spent on my education at Cherry Court School in keeping me at Girton, where I shall attend the University lectures at Cambridge, and learn as much as a man learns. It is wonderful to think of it. Mother is rather vexed; she says that I shall be put out of my sphere and cease to be womanly, but I don't think I could ever be that. You see that it is very important for me to win the Scholarship, and I mean to try very, very, very hard."

When Mary had finished her little speech she drooped her head once again over her desk. When at last she raised her eyes she encountered the bold black ones of Florence Aylmer, and the soft, lovely, dilated eyes of Kitty Sharston.

"And I want to win the Scholarship," said Kitty, taking up the theme, "because it means staying on here and being happy and being well educated for three years. It means getting the best lessons in music, and the best lessons in singing, and the best lessons in art, and it means also getting the best instruction in modern languages, and in all those other things which an accomplished woman ought to know. Then at the end of three years if all is well and father gets promoted to the hill station, I shall go out to join him in Northern India, and I want to be as perfect as possible in order to be father's friend as well as daughter, his companion as well as child."

"And if you don't get the Scholarship, what will happen?" said Florence, in a low, growling sort of voice.

"Why, then I am going to live with a lady whom I don't love; her name is Helen Dartmoor; she is a Scotchwoman, and a cousin of my mother's. She is not the least like my dear mother, and I never loved her, and I know that the best in me will not be brought to the fore if I am with her; and I shan't learn those things which would delight dear father; I shall not know modern languages, nor be a good musical scholar, nor be able to sing nicely, and I--I shall hate that life, and my nature may be warped, and I--but, oh! I will win the Scholarship."

Kitty sprang to her feet and went over to the window. "This makes me restless," she said; "I didn't mean to express all my feelings; I am very sorry for you, Mary, and for you, Florence, but, I mean to get the Scholarship."

"You have not yet seen the thing from my point of view," said Florence. "Perhaps in reality this means more to me than even to you, Kitty, for I--I in reality am horribly poor. I know, Kitty, that you are poor too--I know perfectly well that your father is poor for his position; but whatever happens, you are a lady, Kitty, and your father is a gentleman, and at the end of three years, whether you win the Scholarship or not, you will go out to him and lead the life of a lady. I don't suppose, when all is said and done, that it will make any difference in his affection whether you can speak French and read German or not, and I am certain he won't kiss you less often because you do not play charmingly and because you do not sing divinely. But I--if I lose the Scholarship I lose all--yes, I lose all," said Florence, rising to her feet and standing before the other two girls with a solemn and yet frightened look on her face. "For I shall sink in every sense of the word; I shall no longer be a lady, I shall go as pupil teacher to a common, rough sort of school, and my mother, my dear mother, will suffer, and I shall suffer, and all the good things of life will be taken from me. So it is more to me than it is to you, Kitty Sharston; and as to you, Mary Bateman, you are out of count altogether, for why should you go to that new-fangled college and be turned into a man when you are born a woman? No, no; I mean to get this Scholarship, for it means not only all my future, but mother's future too. It is more to me than to either of you."

Florence swept up her papers, thrust them into her desk, and abruptly left the room, slamming the door after her.

Kitty looked at Mary, and Kitty's eyes were full of tears. "It is quite dreadful," she said; "how she does feel it! I never knew Florence was that intense sort of girl, and it does seem a great deal to her. What is to be done, Mary? Are we to give it up?"

"Give it up?" said Mary, with a laugh; "not quite. Kitty, for goodness' sake, don't allow Florence's words to trouble you. You have got to fight with all your might and main. You will fight honorably and so will I, and if you mean to give it up there will be the greater chance for me, but of course you won't give it up."

"No, I shan't give it up," said Kitty, "but all the same, Florence's words pain me."

At that moment a clear ringing little voice was heard in the passage outside, the door of the oak parlor was burst open, and Dolly Fairfax rushed in. Dolly's eyes were shining and her cheeks were crimson. "Here are two letters," she said, "both for you, Kitty Sharston; it isn't fair that you should get all the letters."

"Come and sit on my knee while I read them," said Kitty, stretching out her arms to Dolly.

Dolly sprang into Kitty's lap, twined her soft arms round her neck, and laughed into her face.

"I do so love you, Kitty," she said; "I do so hope you will win the Scholarship. I don't want you to get it, ugly Mary, and I don't want nasty Florence to get it; but I want you, sweet, dear, darling Kitty, to get it. You shall--you shall!"

"You are a very rude little thing, but I don't mind," said Mary, laughing good-humoredly. "I know I am plain, and I don't care a bit; I'll win the Scholarship if I never win anything else, so you may as well make up your mind, Kitty Sharston."

But Kitty never heard her, she was deep in her father's letter. Yes, it had come, and it was a long letter closely written on foreign paper, and Kitty took a very long time reading it, so long that little Dolly slipped off her lap and wandered restlessly to the window and stood there gazing out into the court, and then back again into the softly-shaded room, with the slanting rays of the afternoon sun making bars of light across the oak.

At last Kitty finished; she heaved a long sigh and looked up. "I had forgotten you were here, Mary," she said, "and as to you, Dolly--but there, it is beautiful, good news. Father has arrived and has begun his work, and he says he has every chance of going up into the hills about the time that I shall have finished my education here. Oh, it is such a relief to read his letter. If you are very good indeed, Mary, and if you are very good, Dolly, you shall both hear some of my letter--not the private part, of course--but the public part, which speaks about father's wonderful interesting travels, and his sort of public life, the life he gives to his country. Oh, dear! I never saw anyone grander than dear, dear father!"

"You have said that very often," said Dolly; "I have got a father too, but I don't think he is specially grand. I suppose it was because your father was a hero before Sebastopol. I shall never forget about Sebastopol now and the trenches since you told me that wonderful story about your father and Sir John Wallis, and the night they were both nearly frozen," said Dolly Fairfax. "I suppose that is why you love your father so much."

"No, it isn't," answered Kitty stoutly; "I love him just because he is my father and because, because, oh! I don't know why--I love him because I do."

"Well, read your other letter now; two have come--read the other."

Kitty picked up the other letter and glanced at it. "This is a private letter; it has come by hand," she said. "Oh, of course, it is from Sir John Wallis. I wonder what he has got to say to me."

Kitty opened the letter and read the following words:

"MY DEAR KITTY: I want you and Miss Florence Aylmer and Miss Mary Bateman to spend to-morrow with me at Cherry Court Park. Mrs. Clavering will accompany you, and I have written to her also on the subject. My dear child, my reason in having you three girls is simply that I want to study your characters. I say this quite frankly, and you may tell both your companions that such is my intention in having you to spend a long day with me. I will do all I can to make you happy, and I think it but fair to put all three of you on your guard, for please understand that the Scholarship is given, not only for scholarly attainments and correct deportment, but also for those lofty traits of character which are a greater possession to any woman than either ladylike manners or great accomplishments. Pray do not be anything but your natural selves to-morrow, for I shall never allude to this matter again. From now until the date when the Scholarship is to be decided, I will expect you three to spend one day a week at Cherry Court Park.

"Your affectionate friend,
"JOHN WALLIS."

_

Read next: Chapter 14. At The Park

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