Chapter VII

On awaking next morning in the Eliza Cook room and looking round upon its iron bedsteads, beneath whose tumbled red blankets the hips and shoulders of five strange girls made miniature mountain ranges, Daphne yielded to a dull resignation. Owen, whose attractions she had too much overlooked, was now seen to be a friend whose absence left a damping blank. How good the holidays would be when once again Hollins would come in, pull up the blinds, and wake them! All these five schoolfellows were still asleep, and she coveted the ease and familiarity which enabled them to hunch up and sleep like that. Herself felt perfectly awake. She would have rather liked to get up, but dared not move till some of the others, by rising and dressing, showed her what to do. There were six basins on a long trestle table, with a clean, white cloth and four new pieces of brown carbolic soap. To look at these squares of soap was to catch their smell. Which of those basins ought she to use, and which piece of soap? And how much of herself ought she to wash? Always at home Hollins had taught her that when she didn't have a bath she must wash, like all ladies and gentlemen, right down to her waist, and never be guilty of the "cat-lick." But she knew, as she lay there, that if the majority of these girls made use of the "cat-lick," she would follow their example. Moral courage, of course, demanded the opposite (like Tom Brown saying his prayers), but she had no desire to show moral courage. All she wanted was to do nothing remarkable.

When at last, one by one, and with unembarrassed talking, the girls got up, after a loud bell had rung downstairs, they soon solved for her the problem of washing. All of them seemed to dress as far as their princess petticoats before approaching the basin, and then gave a hasty polish to their faces and necks with the damp end of a towel. One girl, even, who had lain in bed long after the bell had gone, did not wash at all, but dashed downstairs with her dress undone, plaiting her hair as she went.

Into the stream of girls which, fed by tributary rivulets from other rooms, was cascading downstairs, Daphne slipped, so as to flow along with it and see in what pool it finally settled. It settled in the dining-room, where all the girls were taking up places behind the chairs they had occupied at yesterday's tea. Only whispered talk was passing across the breakfast things, as if even that were contraband. Daphne slipped to the chair that had known her yesterday, and in the absence of Owen, Hollins, and Miss Carrell, the chair seemed a friend. She saw Trudy Wayne, and Trudy saw her, and smiled and looked dreamily ahead. Daphne wondered at the wistful self-sufficiency in her eyes--not knowing that Trudy was posturing for her admiration as Godfrey Baldwin of Whitefriars. The whispers evaporated into empty silence as Miss Vidella walked into the room. When Miss Vidella walked, everything from her head to her waist was as stationary as the bust of a stout lady carried on a tray, but everything from her waist to her skirt-hem moved, and this motion gave her passage across the room the character of a slow, dignified flounce. It also shook and jingled the silver chatelaine, which, now that her school was really in session, she had hung at her belt, much as a mayor hangs his chain about his neck.

She went and stood in the window-bay, and immediately Miss Mitchell, the music mistress, walked to the piano and sat down. Daphne guessed. It was to be Prayers.

They sang, apparently by heart, the hymn:

"New every morning is the love
Our wakening and uprising prove."

and Miss Vidella in her high voice read a chapter of the Bible. Then all knelt down behind their chairs for the collects and prayers. Some who could not be seen of mistresses sat on their heels. Daphne held on to the upright bars of the back of her chair like a caged monkey, and stared through its tracery at the bare seat and the drooping table-cloth. She tried to say _Amen_ when the others did, but the word would not come quick enough, and was even once in danger of saying itself after the next prayer had started; and this dreadful moment decided her to leave the word alone. The public and common worship over, all knelt in silence, till the head mistress, who had been standing, began to move away, and then all finished their private prayers at the same moment, jumped up, pulled out their chairs, sat on them, and released the first trickles of chatter. The door closed on Miss Vidella, who had retired to a more dignified breakfast in her private room, and the trickles of chatter swelled into a spate.

But throughout the meal Daphne employed only one word, "Thank-you." She used it several times, to maids who brought her food, and to the neighbours who passed the plate of bread and butter. She ate her porridge without sugar, being afraid to ask any one to pass it, and her bread and butter without any marmalade, because the dish was so far away. There was much talk of some one called "Petsy," whom she gradually identified as Miss Vidella, and of some one called "Chutney," who was apparently a man. Once or twice she thought she would start a conversation and feign the ease she did not feel, beginning "Who is Chutney?" but the words never got past her throat. She hardly knew herself. At home she had always been a dominant note, and now she was completely overawed, and in the tightening grip of a horrid desire to cry. The moisture, indeed, was near her eyes, and the nearer it came the nearer her vexation drew it, till at last she was in an agony for the meal to be over, so that she could escape from the crowd. Trudy Wayne had been at too great a distance to speak to her. Only one other person had come out clearly from the noisy background. Shortly after her arrival in the room she had noticed Miss Sims seeking along the faces of the girls for a particular one, and had felt a telepathic certainty it was hers she sought. So she was not surprised when the mistress's eyes encountered hers, and smiled a sympathy. Daphne smiled confusedly back. After that she caught Miss Sims looking at her frequently.

In the half-hour between breakfast and classes the girls went to their various Form Rooms, which they were allowed to use as Common Rooms. Daphne, being as yet placed in no form, wondered where to go, and found herself left in the long hall or corridor that ran behind the form-room doors. Here she delayed, and when people passed, pretended to be doing something definite lest she appeared lost and ridiculous.

Suddenly from a small door at the corridor's end Miss Sims appeared, bearing a load of stiff-covered and glossy exercise books ready for dealing out to the members of the form, and directly she saw Daphne she stopped, and then advanced towards her.

"Are you looking for some one, dear?"

Daphne looked up at her, and seeing the kindness in her eyes, determined to be frank.

"Please where do I go to now?"

"My poor child, have you been out here all alone, wondering where to go? I'll show you. Come with me."

She had intended to lead her to the girls in her own classroom, but changed her direction. Here was the soft-featured child whom last night she had chosen as first favourite for the throne of Audrey Stanton, and it would be rather sweet to have her alone for a few minutes in an empty room, and to talk kindly to her there. Perhaps the child would cry, and she would comfort her, stroking her head, and from that moment the desired adoration would kindle in Daphne.

So Miss Sims walked towards the corner, where the corridor made a right-angled turn and led to a back wing of the house. The first door on her right was a music-room, a cell-like place, containing a piano, two chairs, a table, and a music-rack. With Daphne behind her she entered, and pushed the door so that it closed but did not latch.

"Just come in here a minute where I have one or two things to do."

She pretended to be engaged in sorting some music, but soon stopped. Seating herself on one of the chairs, she said:

"Now come, Daphne dear, I want you to tell me all about yourself."

Daphne came two or three steps nearer.

"Come dear, don't be afraid of me. Don't think of me as a mistress, but just as a friend."

Daphne came up close against her knee, and Miss Sims put her arm about her waist.

"There. You look sad and homesick. I want you to tell me all your troubles. Always, will you? Anything that's on your mind, no matter what it is. If any girl's unkind, or any mistress doesn't understand you. Always tell me, for already I feel so fond of you."

Perceiving that her pupil's head had dropped a little, as though to hide a moisture, she pulled her closer by the waist, and let her pressure speak silently of sympathy and understanding. For quite a while she held her like that, till Daphne, though grateful and beginning to reciprocate the affection, was not without an embarrassment at its rapid progress.

"Promise me you'll let me do all I can for you. I want to do a great deal. Will you promise me?"

"Yes," muttered Daphne.

Miss Sims pulled her close again; and it would have been difficult to see how the conversation was to be continued or closured, had not a high-pitched voice in the passage outside caused Miss Sims to release the child abruptly.

"There," said she. "We must be getting to the class-rooms." A disturbance was in her voice. "You help me to carry these exercise books."

"Miss Sims! Miss Sims!" cried the voice without.

Miss Sims immediately issued from the music room with Daphne following.

"Here I am, Miss Vidella. Little Daphne Bruno is helping me with these exercise books. I thought perhaps I had better give her something to do, lest she should be inclined to mope at all this first morning."

Miss Vidella was apparently angry about something, and eager to vent it.

"What a strange idea, Miss Sims! I think there can be no reason why a child should mope in a school such as mine, where everything is done to contribute to their happiness. I think it's a strange idea to put in a child's head. Very unwise. But that's neither here nor there at the moment. I must ask you to communicate to Miss Mitchell my exceeding displeasure at what I saw just now." She made suitable play with her fat hands. "There was Mr. Pulteney calling to hear if the same pupils were taking the violoncello, as indeed was very proper of him, and there was Miss Mitchell talking to him in the hall. I dislike intensely to come down the stairs, and see in the entrance hall of my school a young man and a young woman talking together like that. I wish you would convey that impression to Miss Mitchell. Supposing some one had called at that moment. If she as music mistress has any communication to make to the visiting music master, she must make it at the proper time and place. I think I left that impression on them, however. I gave them one look, and they went their several ways.... Well, Daphne dear, I hope you are happy.... Do you like very much your new school?"

"Awfully."

"Awfully! What strange terms these dear children do use! Well, dear, I think you had better start in Miss Sim's form, the Fourth. We can examine you, and if you know much more than the others of your age, we can move you up.... Dear, dear, it is already half-past nine o'clock. Why doesn't some one ring the bell for First Hour?"

In spite of Daphne's distinguished father, the verdict, after an examination of her attainments in Miss Sims's class-room, pronounced that she had but little scholarship, and her intelligence was apparently unremarkable. In truth, she had but few goods to display in her window. Her governess, Miss Carrell, had directed her instruction to achieving popularity with her pupil, and not to her future academic success. Daphne's knowledge, therefore, was below the standard of her age, and, more serious consequence, her capacity for concentration on subjects she disliked was enervated and flabby.

Her failure this morning, while drawing from Miss Sims the becoming sounds of disappointment, really relieved and delighted the mistress. Now there was no chance of her favourite being promoted to the form above. And with Miss Sims, though the thought of cruelty could only sit under aliases and disguises in her mind, it was always sweeter to see her favourite in disgrace and hurt than successful and rejoicing. So she did not minimise Daphne's ignorance when Miss Vidella came in to hear the report, and to examine such papers as the new girl had written.

"Strange!" whined the head mistress, as she took off the steel spectacles with which she had scanned the work. "Strange indeed that a father of such eminence should have so backward a child. But it is often the way. Ordinary parents have extraordinary children, and _vice versa_. Were your grandparents utterly simple, child? Well, perhaps you don't know. Perhaps one day you will have a little daughter who will redress the balance. Meantime we must see what we can make of you, and you must apply yourself studiously. Now do you return to your seat, dear. You will remain in Miss Sims's form."

With that decision Miss Vidella carried out her stationary bust and back on her swinging hips; and Miss Sims tapped Daphne on the shoulder--it was a pleasure to touch the child even thus far--and murmured, "Never mind. Never mind."

Which rather surprised Daphne, since she had not greatly minded, being dimly aware that Miss Vidella was acting up to a part, and that it was a rather pompous and foolish one.

At dinner only French might be spoken. Of French (Daphne was to learn) Miss Vidella made an enormous feature. She took all French classes herself, and gave long lectures on French literature, with special attention to Victor Hugo. They were like perpetual masses, with Miss Vidella as priestess, in honour of Victor Hugo. On the strength of having once when eight years of age (so Daphne was told) sat on Victor Hugo's knee, she considered that her French accent was perfect and every one else's egregious, and her knowledge of French literature vast, and every one else's insular and limited. "I wish to goodness," the elder girls would say before, during, or after a memorial mass, "that she'd never met the man."

In the afternoon there was talk of a walk. It was the Lent term, and a walk was the normal recreation. Hockey was in the very first stages of its adoption by girls' schools, and to hockey Miss Vidella could never be resigned. Tennis she allowed in the summer term, on the stipulation that the girls kept their legs well-disciplined. But in the Christmas and Lent terms, apart from a walk in crocodile formation, the only athletic pastimes were gymnasium and riding; and riding was limited to those whose parents paid for it. Riding she probably allowed because it gave a school such a _tone_; but she fluttered around it with much care for its propriety. It was not easy to see the riding master, on his chestnut horse, riding away with a score of her girls. Had she been able to sit a horse herself, she would have cantered among them as a chaperon; but she could not, and none of her governesses were ever likely to be familiar with a saddle, even if they could be trusted with a riding master, so she was reduced to being sternly present at the mounting and departure, to instructing the elder girls to look after one another and their younger schoolfellows, and to watching the cavalcade as far as the bend in the road.

With gymnasium it was different; one of her mistresses, or herself on days of condescension, could accompany the girls and sit in the spectators' gallery, and ensure that only the seemlier exercises were performed. Definitely she forbade the "spread-eagle" on the rings, and the "circle" or the "hock-swing-off" on the horizontal bar, and the "short-arm-balance" or "long-arm-balance" on the parallel bars. These circles and balances were only so many gilded somersaults. When Hemans House had first gone to the Royal Gymnasium in the Cambridge Road, and Miss Vidella, at first sight of these exercises, had interdicted them for ever, the instructor had declared:

"The other schools allow them, madam."

And Miss Vidella, from her seat in the gallery, had replied:

"I dare say they do, instructor. In fact, I feel very confident they do. But the aims of my school are probably different from theirs. My aim is to turn out little well-bred ladies rather than acrobats and harlequins."

"Quite so, madam."

And Miss Vidella, conceiving that she had made a good point, dulled it by making it again.

"None of my children, instructor, are likely to earn their living in the circus ring."

"No, madam," admitted the instructor, muttering for the amusement of the nearest girls, "not a dog's chance o' that."

So gymnastics were confined to swinging on the travelling rings or the bridge-ladder, gentle vaulting over the parallel bars and the horse (though in this matter there would be a cry of disapproval if the upward swing of any girl's leg was more unladylike than was inevitable), and to Indian clubs and dumbbells, which Miss Vidella considered most rhythmic and refined.

This first afternoon, since neither gymnasium nor riding had begun, the girls could only go for a crocodile walk, and at the pointed invitation of Trudy Wayne Daphne paired with her.

On this walk Daphne awoke to the idea that men could be important before you were grown up. The conversation of the girls in front danced around the prospects of meeting such and such a man. They spoke of "The Dandy Fifth," who, Trudy explained, was a young coach at an army crammer's, and earned his nickname from the waist-line in his coat, his fawn vest, and his patent-leather boots. And there was Arthur Belsize, the famous young novelist, whose three books, "The Homes of Mogador," "The Purple Orchis," and "Dust on the Scaffold," had made him a local celebrity second only to the lady in the Castle. And there was the Holy Innocent, a curate at Holy Innocents Church, where Hemans House went on Sundays. These gentlemen, Trudy garrulously explained, were often to be passed in the park, the novelist, Arthur Belsize, especially, who had a habit of strolling every afternoon down the Long Walk. "I expect he hopes it'll one day be called the Belsize Walk," suggested Trudy, "like Addison's Walk at Oxford." Here, then, was the explanation why the senior girls whenever possible, led the Hemans House column through the gates into the Great Park.

Daphne was excited about the chance of seeing Arthur Belsize, not because he was a young man, but because he was a famous story-writer. His tale, "The Purple Orchis," since it was based on history, had been read to Owen and herself by Miss Carrell. It did not occur to Daphne that, being the daughter of a writer, she had no reason to be excited about them as a class, because she hardly thought of her father as an author in this true story-telling sense.

Neither the dandy nor the curate appeared, and the twitter and chattering of the girls was passing to other subjects, when one of them discerned the novelist, Arthur Belsize, walking slowly towards them. A tremor ran down the crocodile from its head girls to the smaller ones in the neighbourhood of Trudy and Daphne. Daphne put her head outside the column to see the approaching celebrity, and was very disappointed. He looked exactly the same as any other young man who might be seen in a third-class railway carriage.

A silence dropped on the girls. It appeared they had a custom of readjusting their conversation to the novelist's ear. As soon as he came within hearing distance they would discuss only (and this rather loudly) his novels. He was now alongside the column, and the discussion began.

"I liked 'The Homes of Mogador' best, didn't you?"

"I sent 'The Purple Orchis' to my cousin for her birthday."

"'The Homes of Mogador' wasn't a patch on 'The Purple Orchis.'"

"'The Homes of Mogador' was rot."

"I didn't like 'The Purple Orchis' much, but 'Dust on the Scaffold' was ripping."

"That's Arthur Belsize."

He passed by, affecting to have heard nothing, though Daphne suspected that his lips trembled.

To her, who had played with hardly any girl friends in Deseret Road, this interest in men while your hair was still down your back was an idea entirely new. That a lover might come to her after she was eighteen or twenty had, of course, often been in her mind, especially when she read or listened to the love scenes of a romance. But that men as a genus, apart from the individual lover, were interesting she had not grasped, nor that her earlier love stories might be looked for at once.

When the crocodile had returned from its walk it disintegrated into its classes for afternoon school. In Miss Sims's room, darkening behind its Japanese bead curtains, the subject was Latin, a language of which Daphne knew very little and pronounced that little wrong. Her quantities were false, Miss Carrell having learned the grammar after she left Hemans House, and learned it from a book without help from the spoken word. When Miss Sims arranged her girls in a row that they might "go up" and "take each other down," she told Daphne that as a new girl she should be given a start and might go to the top. Doing even this little for her favourite gave her a mild pleasure.

"Now, we'll see what you know of Latin grammar. 'I shall love.' Let us have the future of _Amo_, I love."

The question pleased Daphne because she knew the answer.

"_Ammer-bo_, I shall love, _Ammer-bis, Ammer-bit, Ammer-byemus, Ammer-bightus_----"

The remaining word was lost in a roar of laughter.

"No, no, no, no," smiled Miss Sims, which amazed Daphne, since she knew she was right; she could see in her mind's eye the whole page of Latin Grammar, and there was the future, "_Amabo, amabis, amabit_."

"No, no, no. It's _Amābo_, not _Ammer-bo; Ambimus_, not _Ammer-byemus_."

At this word the class laughed again and a sudden unreasonable burst of temper inflamed Daphne. It was the break-through of all her resentment at the failure of school to satisfy her picture of it; she felt ready and anxious for some violent rebellion, as once before she had felt with Miss Durgon. The tears started to her eyes, and this exposure made her angrier and more defiant.

"Say it again now--properly," ordered Miss Sims.

"_Ammer-bo, Ammer-bis_----"

"Next!" The mistress turned her head to the next girl.

"_Amābo_."

"Go above her." And Daphne went down one place.

Miss Sims had seen the symptoms in her favourite's eyes, and they produced a curious mixture of pleasure and love. After caressing and fondling, she enjoyed most (though it disturbed her to think so) punishing the thing she loved.

"Say it again, and properly, and don't be sulky."

To be told she was sulky was enough to fix Daphne in her obstinacy.

"_Ammer-bo, Ammer-bis_----"

"Next!"

Down went Daphne another place, and the class began to enjoy the game.

"Now say it properly at once."

"_Ammer-bo, Ammer-bis_----"

"Next!"

And a little girl who had been breathlessly rising on her toes said "Amābo" and went up.

There were eleven girls in the class, and Daphne said "_Ammer-bo_" ten times till she reached the buffers of the bottom place.

"You're a very naughty little girl," denounced Miss Sims. "You're the oldest girl in the class, and you're content to be taken down by those much younger than you. And just to gratify sullenness and rebellion. You will write out fifty times, 'The second _a_ in Amabo is long.' And don't let me see anything of you till that is done."

She had visions of herself being cold and haughty with the child, and of Daphne, whose advances would thus be repelled and bruised, suffering the tortures of a loved mistress's scorn and finally breaking in humility at her feet.

After the classes and tea there was an hour before Preparation. Silent at her desk in Miss Sims's room, now a chattery Common Room, Daphne wrote twenty times, 'The second _a_ in _amabo_ is long,' and decided that she had done enough for to-night. Feeling so lonely she wanted to write to Miss Carrell--even to Owen. She got some of the note-paper that had been given her to take to school, and began her letter.

"DEAR MISS CARRELL,

"I hope you got back safely....

(The picture of Miss Carrell getting back to her home and entering the old rooms made her lip shake.)

"We have been for a lovely walk this afternoon in the park. It was lovely. We passed Arthur Belsize. I sleep in a room called Eliza Cook. There is another room called the Frances Burney room. This afternoon we did Latin. I am going to have my first riding lesson to-morrow, and I am looking forward to gymnasium. I like school awfully. What fun it will be when the holidays begin in three months' time. I must not write much more as I am going to write to Owen.

"Much love
"From
"Ever your loving
"DUFFY"

"P.S.--Love to Hollins."