Chapter XXVII: Agnes Hosking in Trouble

"WHAT is amiss with Agnes Hosking, I wonder?"

It was Ann Reed who spoke, one afternoon in mid December, as she and Violet Wyndham were on their way home from school. The girls were walking fast for the air was keen and frosty, and it was as much as they could do to keep warm in the face of the easterly wind. Violet, who had been absorbed in her own thoughts—very pleasant ones for they had been of Ruth's approaching visit—turned a surprised glance upon her companion as she said:—

"Is there anything amiss with her? I haven't noticed. What do you mean?"

"I mean that she's looking thin, and ill, and very unhappy. I've remarked it to myself for days past, and this morning she appeared so miserable that I asked her if she was not well—I had not spoken to her before this term. She replied that she was quite well and appeared decidedly annoyed at my question, in fact she was rather rude to me, and said she hated to be watched. As though I had been watching her!" Ann concluded with a heightened colour.

"What an ill-mannered girl she is!" Violet cried contemptuously, "I wish you had not spoken to her, Ann," she continued, looking vexed, "why did you? It was too bad of her to snub you when I am sure you only meant to be kind."

"Yes, I only meant to be kind. I think my speaking to her took her by surprise and she answered as she did to prevent my questioning her further. I believe she is very unhappy about something; I should like to know what it is—not from curiosity, but because if I did I might be able to help her."

"But, Ann, I thought you had decided never to have anything more to do with her!" exclaimed Violet, in great astonishment.

"Yes, I had, but I've been thinking, with Christmas coming, Violet, the time of peace and good-will—" Ann broke off with an appealing glance. Violet frowned. She considered Ann absurdly soft-hearted. Was it really a fact that Agnes was unhappy? she wondered. Well, it served her quite right if she was.

"I have been thinking a great deal of Agnes lately," Ann continued, after a long pause, "especially since you told me about her card playing. I suppose she has really given it up?"

"Oh, yes!" Violet answered, "Clara Garret insisted upon that. She took my advice and threatened to report her and the Pelhams and Kitty Majendie to Miss Orchardson if they did not solemnly promise never again to touch cards whilst they were at school. They all gave the promise, and even went so far as to burn the packs of cards, so I think that's all right. Clara tells me that she finds out the Pelhams have won all Kitty Majendie's money from her."

"What a shame!" cried Ann indignantly; "I believe Kitty's people are by no means rich."

"No, they are not, so she won't have any pocket-money for the rest of the term. It's a good thing she lost instead of winning, for she says she's had enough of Bridge and she never means to gamble again; she was quite horrified when Clara told her playing cards for money was gambling, she hadn't looked upon it in that light, strange though it seems. She's a silly, frivolous, little butterfly who doesn't think deeply about anything, I really don't believe she meant to do wrong. It's fortunate for her that the Pelhams are leaving at the end of the term, for, without meaning it, they do her a great deal of harm," Violet concluded shrewdly.

"I know very little of the Pelhams," said Ann, rather surprised, "I always liked them very well, but, as they are older than I am, we have not clashed much."

"Clara says their mother is a very gay, fashionable woman whose doings are all reported in the ladies' papers, and she is considered a great beauty; but her girls scarcely know anything of her, and when they were little children they only saw her two or three times a week."

"Poor girls! I suppose, though, they will see more of her when they leave school?"

"Oh, yes! They will be presented at court by-and-by, and properly introduced into society, and their mother will not be satisfied till she finds them rich husbands—this is what they tell Clara Garret."

"What a way to talk! Do they really mean it?"

"Oh, I expect so. Agnes Hosking envies them, I believe; I heard her say once that she would like nothing better than to be in a high position and have nothing to do but to enjoy herself."

"But many people in high positions lead unselfish, hard-working lives, Violet. Mother has a friend, with whom she went to school, who married a rich man, a member of Parliament who is now a cabinet minister, of course she and her husband have to entertain a great deal and are regularly in society, but she doesn't give up her life to enjoyment, she is always busying herself for the welfare of others, and I am quite sure she doesn't neglect her children."

"Then she must be very different from Mrs. Pelham. I suppose some people would be unselfish and care for their fellow creatures whatever their position. No, I don't think it's a question of position. But to revert to Agnes Hosking, Ann; what can there possibly be to trouble her? I thought she had everything heart could desire."

"Well, you take notice of her to-morrow, and, afterwards, tell me if you see any alteration in her appearance."

This Violet agreed to do. Accordingly, the following morning during school hours, she observed Agnes more closely than she had done for weeks past. Yes, Ann was right, Agnes was not looking well; she had become much thinner and there were dark rims beneath her eyes as though she had had sleepless nights, whilst her whole appearance was one of listlessness and dejection. Once she caught Violet's gaze fixed upon her and turned her head aside quickly, whilst a deep flush rose to her cheeks. Violet refrained from looking at her after that, remembering her remark to Ann that she hated to be watched.

"Well, did you take notice of Agnes Hosking as you said you would?" Ann asked Violet, later. "Was I not right in thinking her changed?"

"Quite right," Violet agreed; "she is looking very miserable, but it's nothing to do with us if she is—I'm certainly not going to trouble about her."

But Violet thought about Agnes a great deal during the next few days, and one afternoon she was surprised into speaking to her.

It happened thus. She was waiting for Ann, who was having her music lesson, when Agnes appeared in the class-room, where Violet was alone looking over one of her lessons for the next day, and took a chair exactly opposite to her at the table where she was seated. At first Violet did not look up from her book, but by-and-by she stole a furtive peep at her companion and saw that she had opened an exercise book over which she was poring, but not writing, though she held a pen in her hand. Violet turned her attention to her own work after that one momentary glance; but presently she looked at Agnes again, and this time her gaze became rivetted on the other's downcast face which struck her as a picture of misery, so full was it of unhappy thought; then, obeying a sudden impulse, born of curiosity, she asked:—

"Agnes, what is it? Are you in trouble?"

Agnes glanced up quickly, but she did not answer. Her eyes were full of tears, and one rolled down her cheek unheeded. Violet's face softened involuntarily, and she exclaimed:—

"Yes, I see you are! Can I help you? Oh, what is amiss?"

Still Agnes made no response; she simply covered her face with her hands and burst into a passion of sobs and tears. Violet watched her with a sensation of mingled astonishment and dismay till she had somewhat regained her composure, then continued:—

"I don't know the cause of your unhappiness, but I am really sorry—"

"Sorry?" interrupted Agnes, "do you mean it?" She uncovered her crimson, tear-stained countenance, and looked doubtfully at Violet. "Are you indeed really sorry?" she asked.

"Yes, of course I am or I should not say so."

"I should have thought you would have been glad!"

Violet flushed and was silent for a minute, then she said candidly: "I am rather surprised myself that I am not. I have thought very hard things of you, Agnes."

"Not harder than I have deserved."

"Perhaps not; nevertheless, I am sorry for you now, for I see you are very unhappy, and if I can do anything to help you I will, gladly."

"You can't do anything, thank you, but I—I should like to tell you—I wonder you haven't heard—I should have thought Ruth would have written—hasn't she told you about my father?"

"No," Violet replied, shaking her head and wondering at the other's incoherent utterance. "Is he ill, Agnes?" she inquired.

"Oh, no! He's failed."

"Failed?" Violet echoed, not understanding.

"Yes. He's lost all his money, and everything he has will be sold—even our house and furniture."

"Oh, dear! How dreadful for him!"

"Yes, and dreadful for me, too! Oh, I hate the thought of being poor, I hate it! Think what it means for me, Violet! I didn't realise all it meant at first when father wrote and said he'd met with heavy financial losses and that he'd arranged with Miss Orchardson for me to leave here for good at the end of the term—I'm not coming back to Helmsford College again. But, since, I've heard from my grandmother, and she says father will have to begin the world afresh, and she cannot help him because he's borrowed a lot of money from her and lost it, but she is going to make a home for me. Oh, Violet, she's such a cross old thing! Think what a life I shall lead with her! And—and she says that after my education is finished—she's going to send me to a school at Bath—I shall have to earn my own living. Oh, dear!"

"Oh, I would not trouble about that if I were you," Violet said in a consolatory tone, "a great many girls have to earn their own livings; I, for one, shall have to do so, I expect."

"Yes, but it's different for you! You've always known it, and you haven't wasted your time at school as I have."

This was very true. Violet sat silently thinking, her heart full of pity as she looked at the dejected figure opposite her at the table.

"Oh, I am sorry for you!" she cried at length; "and for poor Mr. Hosking, too! I suppose you are very fond of your father, are you not?"

"Yes." Agnes' face quivered, and her tears flowed again. There was a soft spot in her heart for the father who had showed his affection for her by an over-indulgence which had done much to make her the selfish girl she was. "It must be very hard lines for him," she went on; "he said in his last letter that he was glad my mother had not lived to see him a ruined man—you know mother died when I was quite a little girl, I hardly remember her at all. Poor father! I wish he wouldn't send me to grandmother; I'd so much rather be with him, but he says that's impossible now. I am afraid he's very, very poor! Fancy my father poor!"

"Yes, fancy!" Violet said dreamily. It was difficult to realise it indeed. How strange it was that she should be made Agnes' confidante, she who had suffered so much at her hands!

Perhaps Agnes guessed something of what was passing through her companion's mind, for by-and-by she said in a voice, the faltering accents of which expressed real regret:—

"I don't suppose that after school breaks up at Christmas you and I will ever meet again. Before we part I want to ask you to try to forgive me for—for having suspected that you took my purse; I want you to understand that I really am sorry—I tried to tell you so at the beginning of the term, but you would not listen. And I am sorry, too, for all the rude, unkind remarks I used to make to you and your sisters when we were at Miss Minter's, and for the way I spoke to Ann Reed that day at Streatham. Do—do believe me."

The girl's tone was earnest and sincere, but Violet was too surprised to make an immediate reply.

"I have behaved abominably to you all along," Agnes continued, "I took a delight in making you feel your position, and now it is I who am poor, and I haven't a friend in the world—not one I can rely on. I've seen as much of the Pelhams and Kitty Majendie as I have of anyone, but they'll never give me a second thought, especially when they hear, as they are sure to do, that my father has lost his money. I was sent to Helmsford College to make friends and I haven't made one; I've been all wrong somehow—"

"I should have been all wrong, too, if it hadn't been for my coming to live with the Reeds," Violet interposed eagerly; "I came to Barford envious of those better off than myself, and, oh, so selfish, and—and, as you know, I was ashamed of my poor little home at Streatham. Then, as I grew to know Ann Reed and to understand her simple, noble character, I began to see things in a different light, and—but, hush, she's coming! Yes, yes, I forgive you!" she added hastily, in response to Agnes' imploring look.

A minute later Ann entered the room. Her eyes rested first on Agnes' tear-stained countenance, then turned questioningly to Violet.

"What is wrong?" she inquired in a voice of concern.

"Shall I tell her, Agnes?" asked Violet, and, receiving a nod for assent, she proceeded to explain: "Agnes is in very great trouble, Ann, because her father has lost all his money."

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Ann sympathetically. She laid a kindly hand on Agnes' arm. "I'm so sorry to hear this bad news, so very, very sorry," she said earnestly; "has he really lost all his money?"

"Yes," sighed Agnes, "but please don't mention it to the other girls."

"Most certainly not. This is indeed a great trouble for you."

"I could not well have a greater," was the despondent response.

"Oh, yes, you could. There are many greater troubles than the loss of money. You still have your father, remember."

Further talk of a private nature was impossible after that, for several of the boarders came into the room, and Agnes bent her head over her exercise book to hide her tear-blurred countenance from their view. Ten minutes later Violet and Ann were on their way home, conversing confidentially. Violet repeated, nearly word for word, all Agnes had said to her, whilst her companion listened with the deepest interest.

"I cannot help feeling sympathy for her," Violet remarked, at the conclusion of her tale, "no, I really cannot help it."

"But you do not want to help it, do you?" inquired Ann, with a smile.

"Well—no. Still it's astonishing that I should be sorry for Agnes Hosking; even this morning I should have said it was impossible, for there's no doubt about it I have borne malice against her. If anyone had told me of her father's misfortunes I should have been sorry for Mr. Hosking, but I know I should have been glad to think Agnes would have to experience what poverty means; but when I saw how miserable she was, my one thought was what to say to console her."

"Oh, Violet, I am so glad—glad that you felt like that, I mean!" cried Ann.

"Yes, so am I," Violet admitted; "I might have taken my revenge on Agnes by reminding her that she didn't deserve my sympathy or forgiveness, but I simply couldn't. Well I've forgiven her now, and I must try not to think bitterly of her again."