"What does this mean?" said Julia.

"I can't understand it a bit," said Margaret. Then she added after a pause, "I suppose, girls, you fully recognize that the Speciality Club is supposed to be a club without prejudice or favor, and that, as the 'ayes' have carried the day, Miss Betty Vivian is to be invited to join?"

"Of course she must be invited to join," replied Susie; "but it is very unpleasant all the same. I cannot make out what can ail f.a.n.n.y Crawford.

She hasn't been a bit herself since those girls arrived."

The Specialities chatted a little longer together, but the meeting was not convivial. f.a.n.n.y's absence prevented its being so; and very soon the girls broke up, leaving the pretty cups and saucers and the remains of the feast behind them. The chapel bell rang for prayers, and they all trooped in. But f.a.n.n.y Crawford was not present. This, in itself, was almost without precedent, for girls were not allowed to miss prayers without leave.

As each Speciality laid her head on her pillow that night she could not but reflect on f.a.n.n.y's strange behavior, and wondered much what it meant. As to f.a.n.n.y herself, she lay awake for hours. Some of the girls and some of the mistresses thought that she was grieving for her father; but, as a matter of fact, she was not even thinking of him. Every thought of her mind was concentrated on what she called her present dilemma. It was almost morning before the tired girl fell asleep.

At half-past six on the following day the great gong sounded through the entire upper school. Betty started up in some amazement, her sisters in some alarm.

By-and-by a kind-looking woman, dressed as a sort of housekeeper or upper servant, entered the room. "Can I help you to dress, young ladies?" she said.

The girls replied in the negative. They had always dressed themselves.

"Very well," replied the woman. "Then I will come to fetch you in half-an-hour's time, so that you will be ready for prayers in chapel."

Perhaps Betty Vivian never, as long as she lived, forgot that first day when she stood with her sisters in the beautiful little chapel and heard the Reverend Edmund Fairfax read prayers. He was a delicate, refined-looking man, with a very intellectual face and a beautiful voice. Mrs. Haddo had begged of him to accept the post of private chaplain to her great school for many reasons. First, because his health was delicate; second, because she knew she could pay him well; and also, for the greatest reason of all, because she was quite sure that Mr.

Fairfax could help her girls in moments of difficulty in their spiritual life, should such moments arise.

Prayers came to an end; breakfast came to an end. The Vivians pa.s.sed a very brisk examination with some credit. As Miss Symes had predicted, Betty was put into her special form, in which form Susie Rushworth and f.a.n.n.y Crawford also had their places. The younger Vivians were allowed to remain in the upper school, but were in much lower forms. Betty took to her work as happily (to use a well-known expression) as a duck takes to water. Her eyes were bright with intelligence while she listened to Miss Symes, who could teach so charmingly and could impart knowledge in such an attractive way.

In the middle of the morning there was the usual brief period when the girls might go out and amuse themselves for a short time. Betty wanted to find her sisters; but before she could attempt to seek for them she felt a hand laid on her arm, and, glancing round, saw that f.a.n.n.y Crawford was by her side.

"Betty," said f.a.n.n.y, "I want to speak to you, and at once. We have only a very few minutes; will you, please, listen?"

"Is it really important?" asked Betty. "For, if it is not, I do want to say something to Sylvia. She forgot to give d.i.c.kie his raw meat this morning."

"Oh, aren't you just hopeless!" exclaimed f.a.n.n.y. "You think of that terrible spider when--when----Oh, I don't know what to make of you!"

"And I don't know what to make of you, f.a.n.n.y!" retorted Betty. "What are you excited about? What is the matter?"

"Listen!--do listen!" said f.a.n.n.y.

"Well, I am listening; but you really must be quick in getting out whatever's troubling you."

"You have heard of the Specialities, haven't you?" said f.a.n.n.y.

"Good gracious, no!" exclaimed Betty. "The Specialities--what are they?"

"There is nothing _what_ about them. They are people--girls; they are not things."

"Oh, girls! What a funny name to give girls! I haven't heard of them, f.a.n.n.y."

"You won't be long at Haddo Court without hearing a great deal about them," remarked f.a.n.n.y. "I am one, and so is Susie Rushworth, and so are the Bertrams, and so is that handsome girl Margaret Grant. You must have noticed her; she is so dark and tall and stately. And so, also, is dear little Olive Repton----"

"And so is--and so is--and so is--" laughed Betty, putting on her most quizzical manner.

"You must listen to me. The Specialities--oh, they're not like any other girls in the school, and it's the greatest honor in the world to be asked to belong to them. Betty, it's this way. Margaret Grant is the sort of captain of the club--I don't know how to express it exactly; but she is our head, our chief--and she has taken a fancy to you; and last night we had a meeting in my bedroom----"

"Oh, that was what the row was about!" exclaimed Betty. "If we hadn't been hearty sleepers and girls straight from the Scotch moors, you would have given us a very bad night."

"Never mind about that. Margaret Grant proposed last night that you should be asked to join."

"_I_ asked to join?"

"Yes, you, Betty. Doesn't it sound absurd? And they all voted for you--every one of them, with the exception of myself."

"And it's a great honor, isn't it?" said Betty, speaking very quietly.

"Oh yes--immense."

"Then, of course, you wouldn't vote--would you, dear little Fan?"

"Don't talk like that! We shall be returning to the schoolroom in a few minutes, and Margaret is sure to talk to you after dinner. You are elected by the majority, and you are to be invited to attend the next meeting. But I want you to refuse--yes, I do, Betty; for you can't join--you know you can't. With that awful, awful lie on your conscience, you can't be a Speciality. I shall go wild with misery if you join.

Betty, you must say you won't."

Betty looked very scornfully at f.a.n.n.y. "There are some people in the world," she said, "who make me feel very wicked, and I am greatly afraid you are one. Now, let me tell you plainly and frankly that if you had said nothing I should probably not have wished to become that extraordinary thing, a Speciality; but because you are in such a mortal funk I shall join your club with the utmost pleasure. So now you know."

CHAPTER VII

SCOTCH HEATHER

Betty was true to her word. After school that day, Margaret Grant and Olive Repton came up to her and asked her in a very pretty manner if she would become a member of their Speciality Club.

"Of course," said Margaret, "you don't know anything about us or our rules at present; but we think we should like you to join, so we are here now to invite you to come to our next meeting, which will take place on Thursday of next week, at eight o'clock precisely, in my bedroom."

"I don't know where your bedroom is," said Betty.

"But I know where yours is!" exclaimed Olive; "so I will fetch you, Betty, and bring you to Margaret's room. Oh, I am sure you will enjoy it--we have such fun! Sometimes we give quite big entertainments--that is, when we invite the other girls, which we do once or twice during the term. By the way, that reminds me that you will be most useful in that respect, for you and your sisters have the largest bedroom in the house.

You will, of course, lend us your room when your turn comes; but that is a long way off."

"I am so glad you are coming!" said Margaret. "You are the sort of girl we want in our club. And now, please, tell me about your life in Scotland."

"I will with pleasure," replied Betty. She looked full up into Margaret's face as she spoke.

Margaret was older than Betty, and taller; and there was something about her which commanded universal respect.

"I don't mind telling you," said Betty--"nor you," she added as Olive's dancing blue eyes met hers; "for a kind of intuition tells me that you would both love my wild moors and my beautiful heather. Oh, I say, do come, both of you, and see our three little plots of garden! There's Sylvia's plot, and Hester's, and mine; and we have a plant of heather, straight from Craigie Muir, in the midst of each. Our gardens are quite bare except for that tiny plant. Do, _do_ come and see it!"

Margaret laughed.

Olive said, "Oh, what fun!" and the three began to walk quickly under the trees in the direction of the Vivians' gardens.