After a few minutes pa.s.sed in the exchange of these and similar commonplaces, Mrs Saxon rose to depart. On a previous visit she had been shown over the house, and had seen the room where her daughter was to sleep, and now her presence would only prolong the agony. She cast a look at her daughter, full of yearning mother love and sympathy; but Dreda was smiling still, her grey eyes wide open, her very gums showing in the unnatural stretching of her lips. She submitted to be kissed, but offered no caress in return, and turned with a nonchalant air to examine the photographs on the mantelshelf, while Miss Bretherton escorted her mother to the door.

They were all photographs of girls--old girls who had left school and could afford to be amiable and forgiving. One wore a cap and gown and was evidently a crack pupil who had won honours at college; another held a baby on her knee--she was pretty, and had married young; a third supported her head on her hand and stared dreamily into s.p.a.ce; another posed against a screen. Dreda stared at them with eyes that grew misty and unseeing, as the motor puffed down the drive. Now she was alone-- away from home for the first time in her life! Miss Bretherton was coming back--Miss Bretherton with the thin face and the sharply pointed nose.

The door opened; the photographs looked mistier than ever; Miss Bretherton's voice sounded from an immense distance, saying in cheery tones:

"Now I am going to take you upstairs to see your room, Etheldreda.

Susan Webster and Nancy West will share it with you. Susan you know already--a delightful girl; and Nancy is equally charming. Most of the girls returned last night, but we have not yet settled into regular work: it takes a little time to arrange the cla.s.ses. Are your boots quite clean? Better rub them once more on the mat! Pupils are not allowed to ascend the staircase in outdoor shoes."

She led the way forward, while Dreda followed, looking about with curious eyes. The carpet lasted only so long as the stair could be seen from the hall beneath, and was then replaced by oil-cloth, worn to a colourless drab by the tramp of many feet. On the first storey a narrow pa.s.sage ran the whole length of the house, and innumerable doors seemed to open on each side. The murmur of voices could be heard from within, as one pa.s.sed these closed portals; but one of the number, labelled Number 5, was not quite shut, and Dreda had a shrewd suspicion that it opened an inch or two wide as she pa.s.sed by. Probably it gave entrance to the room from which faces had stared out on the drive; probably the same curious faces were peering forth through that crack at this very moment.

The bedroom bore a bleak look, despite the fact that the furniture was all in threes--three narrow beds, three washstands, three chests of drawers--topped by miniature mirrors--and three small cane-seated chairs. Each of the three inmates had a portion of the room to herself, and against the wall stood two folding screens, evidently designed to insure privacy. Dreda noted with dismay that the two ends of the room, the one next the window and the one next the door, already bore signs of occupation. Her brow clouded, and instead of the usual polite remarks of approval, out shot an impetuous question:

"Have I to take the middle? I'd rather have an end!"

"Susan and Nancy have occupied the same beds for the last year. All are equally comfortable."

"There ought to be three screens. I want two to shut myself in.

Suppose one of the others didn't want hers up!"

"Why suppose disagreeables, my dear? It is a great mistake. I feel sure your companions will consider your comfort as thoughtfully as their own. Hang your jacket on the pegs; then you can come to your cla.s.sroom, to be introduced to your companions. Take off your hat."

Dreda pulled a face in the mirror. She felt cross and ill-used. At home she was accustomed to a big, beautiful room all to herself; she did not at all enjoy the prospect of owning a third of this chill grey dormitory. She took off her hat--conscious that Miss Bretherton's eyes were regarding the tomato-topped pin with silent disapproval--wriggled out of her coat, and bestowed a series of pats and pulls to hair, necktie, and blouse. Being one of the happy people who feel cheered rather than depressed by the sight of her own reflection in the gla.s.s, she followed the head mistress downstairs without any of the trepidations of nervousness which afflict most new girls, and was by no means surprised when that lady made straight for the doorway of Number 5.

It opened, and six girls were discovered seated before a table, wearing expressions of preternatural solemnity. One of the number wore spectacles; a second had a broad band of metal over her front teeth; a third had red hair and a thick powdering of freckles; "The Currant Buns"

wore dresses of yellowy-brown tweed, which in Dreda's eyes made them appear "bunnier" than ever. So much was taken in by the first lightning glance, as at the appearance of Miss Bretherton the girls leapt mechanically to their feet and stood stolidly at attention.

"Girls, this is your new companion, Etheldreda Saxon. She is to share Number 20 with Susan and Nancy, and I expect will be in the fourth form.

You had better leave your books and have a little chat beside the fire, until Miss Drake is ready. You may tell her that I gave you permission."

She left the room and shut the door behind her, and Dreda was left face to face with her new companions.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

For a moment the six girls retained their former positions, staring with blank, expressionless faces at the new comer. Then Mary Webster, the eldest of the "Currant Buns," advanced with outstretched hand, followed by her two younger sisters.

"How do you do?"

"How do you do?"

"How do you do?"

"So glad to see you."

"So glad--"

"Very glad--"

The murmurs died into silence, while Dreda smiled a radiant encouragement.

"Quite well, thank you. But rather cold. May we poke the fire? My feet--"

She tapped expressively on the floor, whereupon Mary Webster poked discreetly at the fire and Susan, the youngest of the sisters, pushed a chair into the cosiest corner. The other three girls had come forward by this time, and introduced themselves in due form.

"How do you do? I'm Barbara Moore. It's hateful to be a new girl!"

"How do you do? I'm Norah Grey. Sorry you're cold."

"How do you do? I'm Nancy. Tell me truthfully--_Do you snore_?"

Dreda laughed gaily.

"Sometimes--when I lie on my back. I do it on purpose, because you dream such thrilling dreams. And I yell horribly when I come to the bad bits."

"Something will have to be done!" said Nancy, darkly. She was the girl with the band over her front teeth. It was ugly, but fascinating; one felt constrained to look at it, and looking at it could not help noticing how curved and red were the lips, how darkly lashed the long grey eyes. Nancy was evidently a person to be reckoned with. She sat herself down by the fire, stretched out her feet to the blaze, and appeared to be lost in thought. Dreda longed to talk to her, to inquire what she meant by that mysterious "something," but the "Currant Buns"

were cl.u.s.tering round her, regarding her with anxiously proprietary airs as if, having the honour of a personal acquaintance, it was their due to receive the first attention. Dreda felt quite like a celebrity, on the point of being interviewed by a trio of reporters; but as usual she preferred to play the part of questioner herself.

"Were you doing prep when I came in? What cla.s.ses are you taking to- day? I feel as if I've forgotten everything. One always does in the holidays, doesn't one? Such a bore having to grind through it all again. Seems such a waste of time."

"Have you a bad memory? Miss Drake, our English governess, is especially clever at developing the powers of memory. And holiday tasks are so useful, too; don't you find them so? It is impossible to forget, if one has to study for an elaborate thesis."

"The--what?" questioned Dreda blankly. "But whoever _does_ study in the holidays? I don't! If you did, they wouldn't be holidays. So stupid!

Holidays are for rest and fun. Bad enough to have lessons for two- thirds of the year. One's brain must have _some_ rest!"

She ended on quite an indignant note, and her companions stared at her with a mingling of admiration and dismay. Such a vivid bit of colouring had not been seen for many a long day in that neutral-tinted room.

Yellow hair, pink cheeks, red lips, blue dress--she was positively dazzling to behold. The two younger Miss Websters appeared absorbed in admiration, but the eldest and cleverest-looking of the three pursed up her lips with an air of disapproval and said primly:

"It depends upon one's _idea_ of rest, doesn't it? Leisure may mean only a time of amus.e.m.e.nt, but it's a rather poor conception of the word.

The ancient Greeks understood by it a time of _congenial_ work, as distinguished from work which they were obliged to do. Their necessary work was undertaken in order that they might obtain a time of leisure, but when it came, instead of wasting it in foolish and pa.s.sing amus.e.m.e.nt, they used it to strengthen their intellect and to store up enn.o.bling thoughts."

"How did they do that, pray?" Dreda put the question with the air of one launching a poser, but Mary Webster showed no signs of discomfiture.

"They used to meet together in little companies, and discuss the deepest and most important topics of the day--"

"I expect they gossiped horribly!"

"And they watched the dramas--"

"I call that amus.e.m.e.nt! I wouldn't mind doing that myself."

"But the Greek dramas were not light and vapid like modern plays. They dealt with serious subjects, and the audience often used to commit the words to memory as a mental exercise."

Dreda yawned.

"Ah, well," she conceded indulgently, "it's a long while ago! One mustn't be hard on them, poor dears, for they knew no better. I don't approve of girls bothering their heads about ancient Greeks. Boys have to, for examinations, but if we want to grow up nice, domesticated women it's better to learn modern things, and leave those old fusties alone.

They do one no good."

The girls stared at her in stunned surprise. Agnes, the second Webster, dropped her chin to an abnormal length; the youngest, Susan, bit nervously at her lips; Mary cleared her throat and showed signs of returning to the attack, but Dreda was already tired of the subject, and made a diversion by leaping from her seat and approaching the table where piles of blue-covered exercise books were neatly arranged at intervals of about a yard apart.