CHAPTER NINETEEN.
SCHOOL AGAIN.
School again, and no Tom! The house-parlour with no manly figure tolean with its back against the mantelpiece, and jingle chains in itspocket; the dining-hall with no one to make faces at the critical momentwhen a girl was swallowing her soup, or to nudge her elbow as she lifteda cup to her lips; the cubicle with no magenta dressing-jacket whiskingto and fro--it was ghastly! The girls could not reconcile themselves totheir loss, and the first fortnight of the term was one of unalloyeddepression. No one dared to joke, for if she did her companionsinstantly accused her of "apeing Tom" and snubbed her for the feeblenessof the attempt; no one dared to be cheerful, lest she should be chargedwith fickleness, and want of heart. And Irene, the beautiful, reignedin Tom's stead! It would have been a difficult post for any girl tohave succeeded Thomasina Bolderston, but, curious though it may appear,Irene's flaxen locks and regular features were for the time being somany offences in the eyes of her companions. They were accustomed toTom; Tom had been the Head Girl of their heart, and they resented the"finicking" ways of her successor as an insult to the dear departed.
Irene strove by a gentle mildness of demeanour to soften the prejudiceagainst her, and the girls but abused her the more.
"Catch Tom saying `_It didn't matter_'! Imagine Tom pretending shedidn't hear! A nice Head Girl _she_ is! We might as well have HilaryJervis!" Irene assumed a pretence of firmness; the girls rolled theireyes at each other and tittered audibly. The idea of Irene Greyordering others about! Plainly, it was time, and time only, which couldgive any authority to Tom Bolderston's supplanter!
How keenly Rhoda felt her friend's absence no one guessed but herself.Tom's attitude towards the result of the late examinations would havegiven the keynote to that of her companions, and have shielded the poor,smarting victim from much which she now had to endure. The girls wereunaffectedly sorry for her, but pity is an offering which a proud spiritfinds it hard to accept. It seemed strange to realise that girls castin such graceful moulds as Dorothy and Irene should be so deficient intact as to gush over the humiliation of another, and check therhapsodies of successful candidates by such significant coughings andfrownings as must have been obvious to the dullest faculties. Oh, forTom's downright acceptance of a situation--her calm taking-for-grantedthat the sufferer was neither selfish nor cowardly enough to grudgesuccess to others! Rhoda felt, as we have all felt in our time, thatshe had never thoroughly appreciated her friend until she had departed,and she was one of the most enthusiastic members of the committeeorganised to arrange about the tablet to be composed in Tom's honour.
Of course, Tom must have a place on the Record Wall! Blues, Reds,Greens, and Yellows were unanimously decided on the point; contributionspoured in, and on Sunday afternoon the Blues sat in consultation overthe wording of the inscription.
"The simpler the better. Tom hated gush!" was the general opinion; butit was astonishing how difficult it was to hit on something simple yettelling. A high-flown rhapsody seemed far easier to accomplish, and atlast, in despair, each girl was directed to compose an inscription andto read it aloud for general approval. None were universally approved,but Rhoda's received the largest number of votes, as being simple yetcomprehensive:--
"This tablet is erected to the memory of Thomasina Bolderston, the mostpopular `Head Girl' whom Hurst Manor has ever known. Her companionsaffectionately record the kindly justice of her rule, and the unfailingcheerfulness which was a stimulus to them in work and play."
"Yes--it's the best, decidedly the best, but I should like it to havebeen better still!" said Kathleen thoughtfully. "It is so difficult todescribe Tom in three or four lines."
"And it leaves so much unsaid! I should like to describe her a littlebit so that future pupils might know what she was like. If they readthat, they would imagine her just like anyone else," objected Bertha,frowning. "I suppose it wouldn't do to say something about her--er--`_engaging ugliness_!' or some expression like that?"
Howls of indignation greeted this audacious proposition, and Bertha wasalternately snubbed, reproached, and abused, until she grew sulky andretired from the discussion. Rhoda herself came to the rescue, and withthe critical spirit of the true artist acknowledged the defect in herown work.
"Bertha is right! What I have written gives no idea of Tom herself.It's a pity, but I don't see how it can be helped. What words coulddescribe Tom to anyone who had not seen her? Now, here's another idea!Why not make a rule that every girl who has had her name inscribed onthe Record Wall must present a framed portrait to the school? All theframes would be alike, and they would be hung in rows in the Great Hall,so that future generations of pupils might be able to see what the girlswere like, and feel more friendly towards them!"
"Rhoda! What a h-eavenly idea!" cried Irene rapturously. "How s-implylovely! Why in the world have we never thought of that before?"
"I never heard of anything so splendid!" cried the girls in chorus,while Rhoda sat beaming with gratified smiles. Well, if her own namewould never be printed in that roll of honour, at least she had composedthe inscription of one of the most important tablets, and had suggesteda new idea which bade fair to be as much appreciated as the Wall itself!Already the girls were debating eagerly together as to itsinauguration, and deciding that the different "Heads" should be deputedto write to those old members of each house who had been honoured withtablets, to ask for portraits taken as nearly as possible about the dateof leaving school. Irene, of course, would communicate with Tom toinform her of the step about to be taken by her companions, and todirect her to be photographed at the first possible moment.
"And--er--you might just drop a hint about her attire!" said Rhoda,anxiously, as a remembrance of the dress and coiffure of Erley Chaserose before her. Nothing more likely than that Tom would elect to dohonour to her companions by putting on her very best clothes for theirbenefit, and imagine the horror of the Blues at seeing their old Headdecked out in such fashion! "We should like best to see her as she usedto look here."
"She must wear the old blue dress, and stand with her back to thefireplace, with her hands in her pockets," cried Kathleen firmly. "Wedon't want to see Tom lying in a hammock against a background of palms,or smirking over a fan--not much! It's the genuine article we want, andno make-up. What will she say, I wonder, when she hears she is going tohave a tablet? Will she be pleased or vexed?"
"She must be pleased--who could help it?--but she will pretend she isnot. Mark my words, she'll write back and say it's a piece ofridiculous nonsense."
So prophesied Irene; but the result proved that she was wrong, for Tom,as usual, refused to be anticipated. Instead of protesting that she haddone nothing worthy of such an honour, and beseeching her companions notto make themselves ridiculous, she dismissed the subject in a couple oflines, in which she declared the proposed scheme to be "most laudable,"and calmly volunteered to contribute half-a-crown!
The Blues agreed among themselves that such behaviour came perilouslynear "callousness," but Rhoda recalled that last peep through the barsof the station gate, and could not join in the decision. She believedthat Tom would be profoundly touched by the honour, so touched and soproud that she dared not trust herself to approach the subject from aserious view. And she was right, for if imagination could have carriedher old companions to the study where Tom was then domiciled, they wouldhave seen her chalking an immense red cross on her calendar against thedate when Irene's letter had arrived, and mentally recording it as theproudest day of her life.
No mention was made of the photograph, but in due time it arrived, solife-like and speaking in its well-known attitude, that the moresentimental of the girls shed tears of joy at beholding it. Closelyfollowing it came other contributions to the gallery, which the new-comers examined with keenest interest, feeling more able to understandthe enthusiasm of their seniors, now that the well-known names wereattached to definite personalities.
About this time, to
o, arrived a full report of the examination, and, ashad been expected, Rhoda was found to have failed in arithmetic. Inother subjects she had done well, gaining the longed-for distinction inGerman and French, so that if only-- Oh! that little "If!" How much itmeant! That terrible mountainous "If," which made all the differencebetween failure and success! _If_ it had been a dark morning and shehad slept on! _If_ she had given way to temptation, and dozed off inthe middle of her work! _If_ she had listened to Evie's words ofwarning!--If but one of those possible Ifs had been accomplished, shewould have been among the happy crowd to-day, and not standing miserablyapart, the only girl in the house who had failed to pass. The wildgrief of the first few days swept back like a wave and threatened tooverwhelm her, but she clung to the remembrance of Tom's words, and toldherself passionately that she would _not_ "whine"! She would not poseas a martyr! Even on that great occasion when the certificates werepresented in Great Hall, and the school burst into ecstatic repetitionsof "See the Conquering Hero Comes!" as each fresh girl walked up to theplatform, even through that dread ordeal did Rhoda retain her self-possession, attempting--poor child--to add a trembling note to thechorus.
She never knew, nor guessed, that the girls honoured her more in thatmoment than if she had won a dozen distinctions. She did not see thekindly glances bent upon her by the teachers, for they were careful toturn aside when she looked in their direction; and if she had seen, shewould never have believed it was admiration, and not pity, which thoselooks expressed. In her estimation the occasion was one of pure,unalloyed humiliation, and when she reached the shelter of her cubicleshe seized the hand-glass and examined her ruddy head anxiously beneaththe electric globe.
"It isn't true!" she exclaimed. "The ghost stories tell lies. I don'tbelieve now that anyone's head ever turned white in a night. I can'tsee a single grey hair."