Mavis now found herself placed in a somewhat embarrassing situation. The school favourite had taken rather a fancy to her and extended overtures of friendship. Had she been at The Moorings by herself she might have responded, but it was impossible to be chums with a girl who displayed such open hostility to Merle. The two were "diamond cut diamond". Each was a strong character, and neither would give way an inch. They squabbled and heckled one another continually. If Opal had had even a term's experience of a big school, and if Merle had possessed a little tact and forbearance, they might have rubbed along together. As it was they went about like two thunderclouds. Mavis found her best safety lay in neutrality. She was quite nice to Opal, but not expansive, and whenever opportunity offered she patched up a truce, though the task of peacemaker was often a thankless business, for Opal would say: "Oh, of course, you side with that sister of yours!" and Merle would indignantly accuse her of not taking her part with sufficient vehemence. On the second Friday afternoon after their arrival at Durracombe, Mavis and Merle went to The Moorings as usual. To their immense surprise, when they arrived there, they found the whole school arrayed in light frocks, silk stockings, and sandalled slippers. "Hello! What's the meaning of this? Is there going to be a party?" they asked quickly. "Party? No! Don't you know it's dancing afternoon?" replied Nesta, re-tying her pale-blue hair-ribbon, which was coming off. "Surely Miss Pollard told you?" "She never said a word about it." "Well, she told Opal to tell you at any rate. Just when you'd gone home this morning I heard her say to Opal: 'Run after those two and remind them it's dancing afternoon.'" "Opal never came near us. What a shame!" blazed Merle. "We didn't have dancing last Friday," objected Mavis. "Where? In the playroom?" Nesta laughed. "Oh no! We don't have it at school. There's no room big enough. We go to Miss Crompton's class in the public hall." "Well, look here! What are we to do?" asked Mavis. "We can't turn up as we are? Shall we run home and change into 'war paint'?" "I don't know. You'd better ask Miss Pollard. Oh, here she is! Miss Pollard, please! Mavis and Merle didn't know it was dancing afternoon." "How very annoying! I told Opal to remind you," said the mistress, turning to the aggrieved pair almost as if it were their own fault. "Go home to change? Oh no! There isn't time now. You must all come along at once or we shall be late. It's a tiresome mistake but it can't be helped and you mustn't miss the lesson. You'll know better next week." "Might we tear home and change, and run on to the public hall?" begged Mavis desperately. "No, no! You must all come together. Never mind. I'll explain to Miss Crompton, and it will be quite all right." "Oh, I forgot to tell you two about the dancing. It simply went out of my head," she exclaimed. "Then your head's as empty as a brass nob," exploded Merle. "It was just criminal of you to forget. I believe you did it on purpose." Miss Crompton ascertained that her two new pupils were no novices, then placed them in the senior class. In revolt against what some parents termed "stage posturing" she had revived some of the old Victorian square dances, and was teaching the first figures of the quadrille. Merle happened to be vis-À-vis with a girl of about her own age, a tall athletic girl with fair hair, who looked as if she would be more at home on horseback than in a ballroom, but who, nevertheless, gaped at the Ramsays' morning costumes with unconcealed scorn, and arranged the skirt of her own pretty dress rather ostentatiously, as if calling attention to the difference. When she met Merle in "the ladies' chain", instead of joining hands as the figure required, she deliberately refused the outstretched fingers and swept past without touching them. To Merle it was an open insult. She looked at Miss Crompton to see whether the teacher had noticed, but Miss Crompton's attention was concentrated on two special bunglers, and though the incident happened again as the girls crossed back to their own places, it drew down no reproof. "Slack teaching here," thought Merle, fuming with wrath. "Such a thing would never have been allowed in our class at Whinburn. I don't know who that girl is, but she's an out-and-out blighter. This is one of the most grizzly afternoons I've ever had in my life." "I'd have brought your dresses to the town hall for you if I'd only known," declared Jessop. "It was a great mistake of Miss Pollard's; she ought to have sent you home to change, even if you missed part of the lesson." (Gentle Aunt Nellie sounded quite wrathful). "How could you dance properly without your thin shoes? Never mind, dears! You'll know better next week, and we'll take care you go really nice. I wouldn't worry any more about it if I were you. Do your preparation this evening, and if it's fine to-morrow perhaps Uncle David will take you with him to Chagmouth. That will give you something else to think about, won't it?" The girls cheered up at this suggestion. They were very anxious indeed to go out with Dr. Tremayne in his little Deemster car. He had a branch surgery at Chagmouth, a village ten miles away, and every Saturday he spent most of the day there, seeing patients and visiting a sanatorium to which he was consulting medical officer. He would have taken the girls on the previous Saturday, but there had been a strong gale, and he was afraid of Mavis running any risks just at first. "Devon wind and rain are so soft they don't hurt me," urged Mavis. "The whole air has a different feel from the north. It's nearly as mild as our summer. Uncle David, I just want to forget I ever had a sore chest!" "That's the best way; still we must go slow and sure. I don't want to have to order you to bed with a bronchitis kettle." "I hope I've said good-bye to that wretched old kettle for evermore. I didn't want Mother to pack it, but she put it in. I'll give it away willingly to the first person who needs it." Saturday morning fortunately proved fine and mild enough to dispel all fears on Mavis's behalf, and the girls were ready and anxious to start long before Dr. Tremayne had finished his work in the surgery. They fumed round the waiting-room door, casting indignant glances at the patients seated within, and hoping their cases were not serious, and would not require much of the doctor's time and attention; then, finding such hanging about rather dispiriting, they went to the garage and helped Tom to polish the brasses of the car—a praiseworthy occupation that kept them busy until the last patient had been dismissed from the surgery. The little yellow car was only a two-seater, but it held three at a pinch. Mavis, in the middle, sat as far back as possible, so as not to incommode Uncle David's left arm as he drove, while Merle sat a little forward, to give extra room. Jessop tucked the rug over their knees, Tom started the engine, Aunt Nellie waved good-bye out of the open window, and at last they were off, over the bridge and along the road that led to the south. It was a lovely sunny morning, with great fleecy clouds on the horizon, and a blue sky overhead. Small birds were flitting about in the hedges, and large flocks of rooks and starlings were feeding in the ploughed fields. The banks were green with masses of beautiful hart's-tongue ferns, and all nature seemed alive and stirring and thinking of spring. The car whizzed along at a good pace, and they were soon scaling the hill and crossing the portion of the moor that lay between Durracombe and Chagmouth. The glistening drops from yesterday's showers still shone on the brown heather, sheep were feeding on the patches of fine grass, and wild little ponies stampeded away at the approach of the car, as if they were running a race with motor power. Dr. Tremayne halted at a house at the top of the village, and took his car round into the stable-yard. The house was a farm, and he rented rooms there for the purpose of his profession. A brass plate upon the door set forth his surgery hours. People in Chagmouth, unless they were seriously ill, kept their aches and pains until Saturdays, for it was a long way to fetch the doctor from Durracombe to pay a special visit. The waiting-room at Grimbal's Farm was generally full when he arrived, and there were enough messages from patients requiring his attendance to keep him busy for the whole of the day. When the car had been put safely under cover, Uncle David took Mavis and Merle beneath the great arch of fuchsias that framed the doorway and into the wide, old-fashioned hall, where the farmer's wife, who had been watching for the car, was standing to greet them. "Well, Mrs. Penruddock, how are you? Anybody waiting for me this morning?" began Uncle David. "You see I've brought my nieces with me to-day. They'll take a look round the place while I'm busy. Can you manage to find any lunch for them, do you think?" "I'll go up in the afternoon then, when I take the Sanatorium. I'll see the people who are waiting now, and then have lunch, please, before I begin my round. Have you a watch, Mavis? That's right! Then run down and look at the sea, you two girls, and be back by one o'clock. Don't forget the time, because I shall have a long round to-day, and must make an early start." The midday February sunshine made gleaming, dancing lights on the water. Each wave as it rolled in showed a transparent window of amber, then fell in foaming white on the beach, carrying back with it a mass of grinding pebbles. The south wind was fresh, but not at all cold. Mavis drank in great gasping breaths of it, as if it were something for which she had craved and pined. A fortnight of Devon had already brought a pink tinge to her cheeks, and the sea air to-day was turning them rosy. The girls walked about on the shore, picking up shells, examining the great tangled pieces of seaweed, and peeping into the pools among the rocks. They would have liked to go round the point, but Mavis's wristwatch warned her that time was galloping, and that if they meant to climb back up the hill to Grimbal's Farm they must turn at once and hurry their steps; so, very reluctantly, they said a temporary good-bye to the beach, promising themselves many further visits there on future Saturdays, and each taking a cockleshell to carry in her pocket as a charm to lure her again to the domain of the sea-nymphs. |