"Why do you hate me so much, Aneta?" said Maggie then.

"I hate subterfuge and untruth," said Aneta. "I don't hate you. If you would be straight and open and above-board you would find me your best friend."

"Thank you so much!" said Maggie in a sneering tone. "When I require you for my best friend it will be time enough for you to offer me that enviable position." Then she added, speaking in a low tone of intense dislike, "Is it likely that any girl would wish to make a best friend of another girl who accused her of subterfuge and want of truthfulness?"

The delicate pink rose in Aneta's cheeks. She raised her eyes and looked full up at Maggie. Her clear, calm eyes seemed like mirrors.

Maggie felt that she could not meet them.

It was just at that moment that Cicely Cardew, in a state of suppressed excitement, came into the room.

"Maggie," she said, coming straight up to Maggie Howland, "there's a very large parcel addressed to you in the hall. It has been paid for; we are all dying with curiosity to know what it is."

Maggie rose abruptly.

"I will go and look at it myself," she said. "A large parcel addressed to me! Who can have sent me anything?"

"It looks like a huge dress-box," said Cicely. "We're all curious about it."

Before any girl could leave the drawing-room it was necessary that she should ask Mrs. Ward's permission. So Maggie now went up to that good lady and asked if she might go and look at her parcel.

"A parcel for you, dear?" said Mrs. Ward. "And you want to see its contents? But bring it in here; we shall all be delighted to look at it--sha'n't we, girls?"

Maggie went away, wondering a good deal. Cicely accompanied her. Miss Johnson also appeared on the scene.

"Why, Maggie," she said, "what can you have got? Such a huge box, and all covered over with brown paper! I don't suppose Mrs. Ward would really like that box to be brought into the drawing-room. I'll just go and ask her."

One of Mrs. Ward's peculiarities, and perhaps one of the reasons why she was such a favorite and led her girls with such gentle, silken cords, was her power of entering into their pleasures. She used to confess with a smile that she was like a child herself over an unopened parcel; and when Miss Johnson appeared with the information that the box was large and c.u.mbersome, Mrs. Ward still gave directions that it was to be brought into the drawing-room.

"You can put some of the brown paper on the floor, if you like, Lucy,"

she said, "and Maggie can show us its contents."

Now, one glance at the parcel told Maggie Howland who had sent it. She recognized her stepfather's writing. That bold commercial hand was painfully visible on the label. She would have given worlds not to have anything selected for her by Martin exhibited in the drawing-room at Aylmer House. But to refuse to show the contents of the box would but raise strong suspicion against her. She therefore, although very unwillingly, followed Miss Johnson into the drawing-room. The box was laid on the floor. The lid was removed, some tissue-paper was next extricated, and beneath lay a wardrobe such as poor Maggie even in her wildest dreams had never imagined. There was a letter lying on the top which she clutched and put into her pocket. This letter was in her stepfather's writing. She could not read it before the others. Aneta and all the girls of her set, also Kathleen O'Donnell, Rosamond Dacre, Matty and Clara Roache, Janet Barns, the Tristrams, the Cardews, all cl.u.s.tered round the box.

"Oh, what fun!" said Kathleen. "A box of dresses for you! You lucky Queen Maggie! How I wish some one would send me some clothes!"

"Take them out, dear, and let us look at them," said Mrs. Ward.

The first dress to be removed was a magenta cachemire. It was made with a short skirt trimmed with little frills of the same. The bodice had sleeves to the elbows, and long, coa.r.s.e cream-colored lace sleeves below. The front of the dress was also much bedizened by the same coa.r.s.e cream lace.

Maggie felt her face nearly purple with rage. "Oh, why must all these things be looked at here?" she said; and there was a piteous note in her voice.

"I don't see the necessity, dear," said Mrs. Ward kindly.

"But, oh! please, please," said Kathleen, "we _must_ see the others.

Here's a sage-green dress trimmed with bands of black silk: that will be quite useful in the winter, won't it, Mags?"

She tried to speak kindly, for the sage-green dress was as little to her taste as the impossible magenta. Under the two dresses were ribbons of different shades and hues, some strong, coa.r.s.e stockings, some square-toed shoes, and finally, below everything else, an evening-dress made of voile, and deep blue in tone.

"Some of the things will he very useful," said Miss Johnson. "I will put them all back again now."

"But whom have they come from?" said Mrs. Ward. "I saw you take a note and put it into your pocket, Maggie."

"Yes, these are a present from my stepfather," said Maggie.

"Miss Johnson, you will take them upstairs, won't you?" said Mrs.

Ward.--"It is kind of your stepfather to think of you, Maggie."

Maggie looked up and met Aneta's glance. Was Aneta thinking of the Martyns of The Meadows? The color rushed all over Maggie's face. She clenched her hands. "I hate the horrid, horrid things!" she said. "I won't wear one of them."

"Oh, come, dear," said Mrs. Ward kindly; "your stepfather means very well indeed by you. He has doubtless had very little to do with dressing a lady before.--We can slightly alter those dresses, can we not, Miss Johnson?"

Miss Johnson had now placed all the hideous garments back in the box.

She said with a smile, "The sage-green dress can be made quite useful; but I rather despair of the magenta."

"Well," said Mrs. Ward, "it was meant kindly. Perhaps, Maggie, if you gave me your stepfather's address I might write to him and tell him the sort of things that I like my girls to wear."

Maggie turned crimson. That would indeed be the final straw. She murmured something which Mrs. Ward did not choose to hear. To her great relief, the hour for bed had arrived, and all the girls went to their rooms.

Miss Johnson came down again after she had deposited the hideous dresses in Maggie's wardrobe. "I quite pity poor little Maggie," she said. "What frightful taste! There is really nothing in the whole of that box that she can possibly wear."

"I must write to Mr. Martyn," said Mrs. Ward. "Didn't somebody tell me that he was a country gentleman--a relation of the Martyns of The Meadows? Such particularly nice people!"

"I know nothing about that," said Miss Johnson. "I only know that the contents of the box are simply atrocious."

"Well," said Mrs. Ward, "we won't say anything to annoy Maggie to-night; I could see that the poor dear child was greatly mortified.

I only regret that I had the box opened here; but you know it is one of our customs to share all our pleasures. Poor little Maggie! The thing was most unlucky."

Up in her room, Maggie had locked her door. She would unlock it again, but she must read that frightful letter without any chance of being disturbed. She opened it, tore it from its envelope, and read the contents:

"DEAR POPSY,--I came across a cheap lot of frocks the other day at a bankrupt's sale, and thought at once of Little-sing and her daughter Popsy-wopsy. I am sending the dresses off to you without saying a word to Little-sing. You will be well off now for some time, and won't require the five pounds from me for dress at Christmas. Hope you're enjoying your fine young ladies and fine life. Neither Little-sing nor me miss you a bit; but, all the same, your room will be ready for you at Christmas. Take care of those good clothes, for I can't often spend as much on you.

"Good-bye for the present.--Your affectionate father,

"BO-PEEP.

"_P.S._--I have a good mind to call on that fine-lady schoolmistress of yours, Mrs. Ward. There's no saying but that Little-sing and me may come along some afternoon when you least expect us."

Maggie crushed the letter in her hand. Fresh terrors seemed to surround her. Dreadful as the impossible clothes were, they were nothing to what the appearance on the scene would be of the impossible stepfather and her poor mother. Oh, why had she concealed the position of the man whom her mother had married? Already Aneta had detected her little act of deception with regard to the Martyns of The Meadows. But that, Maggie felt, could be got over. It was easy for a girl to make a mistake in a matter of that kind, and surely there were other Martyns in the country high-born and respectable and all that was desirable.

But James Martin who kept a grocer's shop at Shepherd's Bush--James Martin, with "grocer" written all over him!--rich, it is true; but, oh, so vulgarly rich! Were he to appear and announce his relationship to her at the school, she felt that, as far as she was concerned, the end of the world would have arrived. What was she to do? There was not a minute to be lost. In one way or another she had seen a good deal of Bo-peep during the last half of those dreadful summer holidays, and she knew that he was, as he expressed it, as good as his word.

Her only chance was in writing to her mother. But then, if, by any chance, Maggie's letter got into the hands of Bo-peep, his wrath would be so great that he would, in all probability, take her from the school at once. What was to be done? Poor Maggie felt herself between two fires. In either direction was danger. On the whole, she resolved to throw herself on her mother's mercy. Mrs. Martin, as she was now, would much prefer Maggie to remain at school, and she might be clever enough to keep Maggie's stepfather from putting in an appearance at Aylmer House.

Maggie wrote a short and frantic letter. She was in the midst of it when there came a tap at her room-door.

"It's I, Maggie," said Miss Johnson's voice from without. "Your light is still burning; you ought to be in bed."

Maggie flew and opened the door. "I am sorry," she said. "I was a good deal upset about those detestable clothes. I am writing to my mother.

Please, Lucy, let me finish the letter. When it's done--and I won't be a minute longer--I'll put it in the post-box myself, so that it can go by the first post in the morning."