The Girls of St. Wode's. Meade L. T.

Belle, turning her eyes towards Eileen, and looking at her as if she did not see her. “I have not the faintest idea what dresses I have. Mother supplies them. I put a dress on in the morning – I take it off at night. Occasionally, in the excitement of my thoughts, I have been known to come down to breakfast in an evening dress. I will admit that this has attracted attention and annoyed me; so as a rule I am careful to see that it is a morning dress which I am about to wear.”

      “But do you think evening dresses necessary at all?” said Eileen in an anxious voice. “We think it would be so much more useful to save our money. Marjorie and I mean to do great good in the world.”

      “Then if you will take my advice,” said Belle, jumping to her feet, “you will come as soon as possible to St. Wode’s. When you are there I will talk to you again. I cannot waste any more time to-day. You will have to pass in Responsions; but doubtless that could be easily managed. Yes, when you are there I shall do my utmost to guide you. Marjorie, just let me place my finger on your brow; I shall be able to tell you in a moment whether you will be able to manage Virgil.”

      Marjorie submitted to this test with exemplary patience. Lettie laughed aloud.

      “You’ll do,” cried Belle. “I’ll just enter your name in my book. ‘Marjorie Chetwynd comes to St. Wode’s College as soon as possible.’ The spring term begins in a fortnight, Marjorie, so you have little time to lose. – Now, Eileen, let me look at you. Yes, you also would do well; but I think perhaps your forte will be modern languages and English literature. All lighter accomplishments you will of course eschew.”

      “Oh, please don’t leave the room,” said Lettie, bounding forward, “until you have placed your fingers on my brow to see what I am worth. Really, this is most interesting. You are a kind of magician, Belle.”

      “You will be one of the frivols; one of the drones of our hive,” replied Belle sternly. “Don’t, I beg of you, come to St. Wode’s.”

      “I can only tell you this,” answered Lettie, running after Belle as she was flying downstairs, “if Eileen and Marjorie go I mean to accompany them.”

      CHAPTER VII – THE FATE OF THE GIRLS

      Belle Acheson was a young woman who never let the grass grow under her feet. Having rushed downstairs at a headlong speed, she now presented herself in the drawing-room.

      “I have just examined the frontal developments of Marjorie’s and Eileen’s heads,” she said, speaking in a loud, rapid voice, and glancing in the direction where Mrs. Chetwynd and Mrs. Acheson were seated together on a sofa. “I have examined the frontal developments of the two girls, and I am glad to tell you that they both show marked intellectuality. I have recommended them to join me at St. Wode’s College, Wingfield, immediately. Will you, therefore, Mrs. Chetwynd, kindly take the necessary steps to see that this is carried out? You must write to our principal, Miss Lauderdale, asking her to give you all particulars as to the necessary steps to be taken for admission. If the girls have not already passed some public examination, they must pass Responsions. The subjects are Latin, Greek, mathematics. But if they have already passed the London Matriculation, or the Cambridge Higher Local, or the – ”

      “My dear, my dear!” cried Mrs. Acheson, “you are positively bewildering my dear friend. What are you driving at?”

      “I am driving at nothing,” said Belle, in a voice of dignity. “I am stating facts. The girls wish to enter St. Wode’s. To do so they must have passed, or will have to pass, certain examinations; but the main thing is to write to Miss Lauderdale. Her address is Miss Lauderdale, Principal of St. Wode’s College, Wingfield. Did you speak, Mrs. Chetwynd?”

      “I did not,” replied Mrs. Chetwynd, in an angry voice. “Will you take a chair, please? Can I give you a cup of tea?”

      “Tea?” cried Belle. “I never take tea, thank you; but I should like a glass of water, please, for my throat is quite dry with all the talking I have been obliged to go through. Don’t you know, Mrs. Chetwynd, that tea is decidedly bad for the brain, and also for the coats of the stomach. Oh, it has a shocking effect. Our best tutors at St. Wode’s never countenance tea. Coffee, strong black coffee, one is obliged to take now and then, particularly when one has to sit up at night before an exam. for honors. Coffee and a wet towel; but tea – no, thank you. Will you permit me to ring for a glass of water? I was giving the girls a lecture upstairs; they have a great deal to learn.”

      Belle did not wait for Mrs. Chetwynd’s most unwilling permission. She sounded the electric bell by the fireplace, and presently the footman appeared. Water was supplied, and the young lady took a copious draught.

      “That is refreshing,” she cried as she placed her glass on the tray. “Now, then, mother, we must be off. Come, we have no more time to waste. I have promised Anne Morrison to call on her before dinner to-day; she wants me to look over some of her matriculation papers, and I must on no account fail her.”

      “But, my dear Belle, Anne Morrison lives at the south side of London, and I am so tired,” said poor Mrs. Acheson.

      “Dear me, mother; have not you strength enough for that much! We will take a bus at the corner and get to Norland Square in no time. Come, don’t you think you have had quite as much frivolous conversation as is good for you? Now, Mrs. Chetwynd, don’t forget to write. The address is Miss Lauderdale, Principal of St. Wode’s College, Wingfield. Come along, mother. By-by, Mrs. Chetwynd.”

      Poor Mrs. Acheson cast anxious eyes of misery and commiseration at her friend, and was hurled out of the room by the emphatic Belle. A moment or two later the hall-door was shut behind the pair.

      “Thank goodness, they are gone at last!” cried Mrs. Chetwynd. “My dear Lettie, is that you? Come here, child, come here. Now, tell me, what did that awful girl say to the children?”

      “Here are the children coming down to answer for themselves,” said Marjorie, springing lightly into the room accompanied by Eileen.

      “Oh, darling little mammy, what is the matter?” cried Marjorie. She ran up to her mother and kissed her. “Why, you look quite worried, you dear old thing. Let me smooth out those furrows on your dear brow! Ah! you look more like yourself now. Come, sit here, and I will sit near you. I will pet you, and you will soon forget all your worries. Is it not good, mammy dear, to have a grown-up daughter on whom to lean?”

      “But if the grown-up daughter won’t be leant on,” cried poor Mrs. Chetwynd. “Oh, my child, everything seems to be topsy-turvy; and that appalling girl, for there is no other word for her – ”

      “Of course the world did turn topsy-turvy twenty years ago,” said Eileen. “For women everything is completely changed. We who were so low are now in the ascendant. It is men who are nowhere. You, dear mammy, must be guided by us for the remainder of your days. You will live here, of course, or anywhere else you fancy, and we will spend our vacations with you.”

      “My dear, dear Eileen, you don’t know what you are talking about. That terrible girl has inoculated you with her democratic views. She is a fearful creature, a sort of monster; and the queer, extraordinary things she said, and the way she hurled her poor mother out of the room, I have really no words to describe. I do pity Mrs. Acheson; but if you think for a single moment, Eileen, that I am going to submit to you and Marjorie having the upper hand and managing your own lives, you are mistaken.”

      Eileen uttered a deep sigh.

      “It will be troublesome,” she said slowly, “and we would much rather not be troublesome; it would worry you, and we would much rather not worry you. Mammy, why don’t you give in at once? It would be so much more graceful of you, mammy; it would really.”

      “Yes, mother; I wish you would,” said Marjorie.

      “But what am I to give in about?” said Mrs. Chetwynd. – “Letitia, have you nothing to say? You have lived with us since you were a baby; in every respect you have been treated as a daughter of the house. Can’t you speak, can’t you show these insubordinate, wicked girls how dreadfully they are acting?”

      “It is useless,” said Lettie, shrugging