"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 pa.s.sion. "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 att.i.tude. 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 rea.s.suring.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE LEISURE HOURS.

School-life began in real earnest, and school-life at Aylmer House was so stimulating, so earnest, so invigorating, that all that was best in each girl was brought to the fore. There was an admirable time-table, which allowed the girls periods for play as well as the most suitable hours for work. In addition, each day there were what were called the "leisure hours." These were from five to seven o'clock each evening.

The leisure hours began immediately after tea, and lasted until the period when the girls went to their rooms to dress for dinner. During these two hours they were allowed to do precisely what they pleased.

Mrs. Ward was most particular that no teacher should interfere with her girls during the leisure hours. From the very first she had insisted on this period of rest and absolute relaxation from all work.

Work was strictly forbidden in the school from five to seven, and it was during that period that the queens of the school generally exercised their power. Aneta then usually found herself surrounded by her satellites in one corner of the girls' own special sitting-room, and Maggie was in a similar position at the farther end. Aneta's satellites were always quiet, sober, and well-behaved; Maggie's, it is sad to relate, were a trifle rowdy. There is something else also painful to relate--namely, that Merry Cardew cast longing eyes from time to time in the direction of that portion of the room where Maggie and her friends cl.u.s.tered.

The girls had been about a fortnight at school, and work was in full swing, when Kathleen, springing from her seat, said abruptly, "Queen, I want to propose something."

"Well, what is it?" asked Maggie, who was lying back against a pile of cushions and supplying herself daintily from a box of chocolates which her adorers had purchased for her.

"I want us all," said Kathleen, "to give a party to the other queen and her subjects; and I want it to be about the very jolliest entertainment that can be found. We must, of course, ask Mrs. Ward's leave; but she is certain to give it."

"I don't know that she is," said Maggie.

"Oh, she is--certain sure," said Kathleen. "May I go and ask her now?"

"Do you dare?" said Rosamond Dacre, looking at Kitty's radiant face with some astonishment.

"Dare!" cried Irish Kitty. "I don't know the meaning of anything that I don't dare. I am off. I'll bring you word in a few minutes, girls."

She rushed out of the room.

Janet Burns looked after her, slightly raising her brows. Rosamond Dacre and the two Roaches began to sound her praises. "She is sweet, isn't she?"

"Yes," said Clara; "and I do so love her pretty Irish brogue."

"Mother tells me," said Janet, who was Scotch, "that Irish characters are not much good--they're not reliable, I mean."

"Oh, what a shame!" said Matty Roache.