A Popular Schoolgirl

“Ingred! Ingred, old girl! I say, Ingred! Wherever have you taken yourself off to?” shouted a boyish voice, as its owner, jumping an obstructing gooseberry bush, tore around the corner of the house from the kitchen garden on to the strip of rough lawn that faced the windows. “Hullo! Cuckoo! Coo-ee! In-gred!”

“I’m here all the time, so you needn’t bawl!” came in resigned tones from under the shade of a large fuchsia. “You’re enough to wake the dead, Chumps! What is it you want now! It’s too hot to go a walk till after tea. I’m trying to get ten minutes peace and quiet!”

Hereward, otherwise “Chumps,” put his feet together in the second position, flung out his arms in what was intended to be a graceful attitude, and made a mock bow worthy of the cinema stage.

“Have them by all means, Madam!” he replied in mincing accents. “Your humble servant has no wish to disturb your ladyship’s elegant repose. He offers a thousand apologies for his unceremonious entrance into your august presence, and implores you to condescend⁠—Ow! Stop it, you brute!”

Hereward’s burst of eloquence was brought to an abrupt end by the violent onslaught of a fox-terrier puppy which flung itself upon him and began to worry his ankles with delighted yelps of appreciation.

“Stop it! Keep off, I tell you! I won’t be chewed to ribbons!” he protested, dodging the attacks of the playful but all too sharp teeth, and catching the little dog by the piece of tarred rope that formed its collar.

She managed to catch her mother alone next morning for a quiet chat.

“Mumsie, dear,” she began. “I’ve been wanting to ask you this⁠—are we going back to Rotherwood after the holidays?”

Mrs. Saxon folded up her sewing, put her thimble and scissors away in her workbasket, and leaned her elbow on the arm of the garden seat as if prepared for conversation.

“And I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this, Ingred. Shall you be very disappointed when I tell you ‘No’?”

“Oh, Muvvie!” Ingred’s tone was agonized.

“It can’t be helped, little woman! It can’t indeed! I think you’re old enough now to understand if I explain. You know this war has hit a great many people very hard. There has been a sort of general financial seesaw; some have made large fortunes, but others have lost them. We come in the latter list. When your father went out to France, he had to leave his profession to take care of itself, and other architects have stepped in and gained the commissions that used to come to his office. It may take him a long while to pull his connection together again, and the time of waiting will be one of much anxiety for him. Then, most of our investments, which used to pay such good dividends, are worth hardly anything now, and only bring us in a pittance compared with former years. Instead of being rich people, we shall have to be very careful indeed to make ends meet.

“Yes, she’s pretty, and that blue dress is simply adorable,” conceded Nora. “I’m going to have an embroidered one myself next time.”

“Her hair is so sweet,” commented Francie.

“I call her ripping!” said Ingred with enthusiasm.

“Well, you ought to take an interest in her, Ingred, considering that she lives at Rotherwood,” put in Beatrice.

“At Rotherwood!”

“Yes, didn’t you know that?”

Ingred, under pretence of distributing exercise-books, turned hastily away. Her heart was in a sudden turmoil. This was indeed a bolt from the blue. She, of course, knew that Rotherwood was let, but she had not heard the name of the tenants, and, as the subject was a sore one, had forborne to ask any questions at home. It was surely the irony of fate that the house should be taken by people who had a daughter of her own age, and that this daughter should come to the College, and actually be placed in the same form as herself. She seemed a rival ready-made. Biased by jealous prejudice, Ingred’s hastily-formed judgment reversed itself.

“I’m thankful I didn’t move away from Verity to sit next to her,” she thought. “I expect she’ll be ever so conceited and give herself airs, and the other girls will truckle to her no end. I know them! I wish to goodness she hadn’t come to the College. Why didn’t they send her away to a boarding school? I’m not going to make a fuss over her, so she needn’t think it.”

The Foursomes, in common with most of the hostel, were fond of Mrs. Best, so they turned over obediently, and composed themselves to slumber. They were really tired by this time, and dropped off into the land of Nod before the clock on the stairs had chimed another quarter. How long she slept, Ingred did not know. She dreamt quite a long and circumstantial dream of wandering on the cliffs near the sea with a gentleman-burglar, who was telling her his intention of raiding Buckingham Palace and taking away the Crown Jewels, and she heard his daring designs (as we always do in dreams) without the slightest surprise or any suggestion that the Crown Jewels are kept at the Tower instead of at Buckingham Palace. She woke suddenly, and laughed at the absurdity of the idea. She felt hot, and threw back her eiderdown. The other girls were sleeping quietly, and the rain was still beating against the window in heavy showers, for it was a stormy night. The door of the bedroom stood wide open. What was that sound coming up the stairs from the hall below? It was certainly not the ticking of the clock. It seemed more like muffled and stealthy footsteps. In an instant Ingred was very wide awake indeed, and listening intently. There it came again! She could not lie still and ignore it. She got out of bed, and with rather shaking knees walked on to the landing and peeped over the banisters. There was a tiny oil-lamp hanging on the wall; it faintly illuminated the stairs. Was that somebody moving about in the darkness of the hall? If it was a burglar, he certainly must not come upstairs, or she would die of fright.