Chilcombe Hall, where Lilias and Dulcie had Beautiful surroundings in a school can be quite The "beauty cult" was a decided feature of Chilcombe Hall. Miss Walters was extremely artistic; she painted well in water-colors and had exquisite taste. Many of the charming decorations in the house had been done by herself; she had designed and stencilled the frieze of drooping clusters of wistaria that decorated the dining-hall wall; the framed landscapes in the drawing-room were her own work, and she herself always superintended the arrangement of the bowls of flowers that gave such brightness to the schoolrooms. Her twenty pupils had on the whole a decidedly pleasant time. There were just enough of them "Divided up into small families according to bedrooms!" added Hester Wilson. The bedrooms at Chilcombe Hall were rather a speciality. They were large, and were furnished partly as studies, and girls had their own bookcases, knick-knacks, and pretty things there. As the house was provided with central heating, they were warmed, and a certain amount of preparation was done in them each afternoon. Miss Walters' artistic faculty had decorated them in schemes of various colors, so that they were known respectively as The Rose, The Gold, The Green, The Brown, and The Blue Bedrooms. Lilias and Dulcie Ingleton, Gowan Barbour, and Bertha Chesters, who occupied the last-named, considered it quite the choicest of all. They had each made important contributions to its furniture, had clubbed together to buy a Liberty table-cloth, had provided vases in lovely shades of turquoise blue, and had worked toilet-mats, nightdress cases and other accessories to accord with the prevailing tone. "The Blue Grotto," as they named their dormitory, certainly had points over rival bedrooms, for it looked down the garden The work of the spring term had been in full swing for nearly a month, when Gowan Barbour, looking at the calendar—hand-painted, with blue cranesbill geraniums—suddenly discovered that next morning would be the festival of St. Valentine. "Could anything be better?" she exulted. "We've won the record for tidiness three weeks running, so we're entitled to a special indulgence. I vote we ask to bring tea up here, and have a Valentine party. Don't you think it would be rather scrumptious? I've all sorts of ideas in my head." "Topping!" agreed Dulcie, pausing in the act of tying her hair ribbon to consider the important question, "specially if we could get Miss Walters to let us send to Glazebrook for a few cakes. I believe she would, if we wheedled!" "What about visitors?" asked Lilias. "It would be much more of a party if we had a few of the others in." "We don't want a crowd, or we might as well be in the dining-hall," objected Bertha. "Well, of course we shouldn't ask the whole "We must get at the soft spot in Miss Walters' heart," decided Gowan. "Pick a bunch of early violets if you can find them, lay them on her study table, talk about flowers and nature for a little while, then ask if we may have a quiet little party in our bedroom to-morrow afternoon, with cakes at our own expense." "Quiet?" queried Lilias. "Well, of course you couldn't call it rowdy, could you? We'll send you to do the asking. Those dimples of yours generally get what you want, and on the whole I think you're the pattern one of us, and the most likely to be listened to." Tea at Chilcombe Hall was a quite informal meal. It partook, indeed more of the nature of a canteen. The urns were what the girls called "on tap" from four to four-thirty, and during summer any one might take cup, saucer, and plate into the garden, provided she duly brought them back afterwards to the dining-hall. Special permission for a bedroom feast was therefore not very difficult to obtain, and Lilias returned from her interview in the study with her dimples conspicuously in evidence. "Well?" asked the interested circle in the Blue bedroom. "Sweet as honey!" reported Lilias. "She "Only two shillings!" commented Gowan. "It will go no way!" pouted Bertha. "Well, I can't help it. Miss Walters said 'Two shillings' most emphatically." "You might have stuck out for more! Those iced cakes are always half a crown!" "I didn't dare to stick out for anything. I was so afraid she'd change her mind, and say 'There's good plain home-made cake with your schoolroom tea, and you must be content with that,' like she did to Nona and Muriel." "We could get twelve twopenny cakes for two shillings," calculated Dulcie; "but if there are eight of us, that's only one and a half apiece." "Best get eight twopenny iced cakes, and eight penny buns," suggested Bertha, taking pencil and paper to write the important order. "Right-o! Only be sure you put pink iced cakes, they are so much the nicest." "Whom shall we ask? It won't be much of a beano on two shillings. Still, they'll be keen on coming, I expect." It was a jolly party round the square table, and if the cakes were not too plentiful, they were at least voted delicious. The girls carried down the cups when they had finished, shook the table-cloth out of the window, carefully collected crumbs from the floor, so as to preserve their record for neatness, then gathered round the table again for an hour's fun before the bell should ring for prep. "It's a Valentine party, and I've got a ripping idea," said Gowan. "We'll put our names on pieces of paper, fold them up, shuffle them and draw them; then each of us must write a valentine "Sounds rather brainy, doesn't it?" objected Noreen. "I don't think I'm any hand at poetry!" "Oh! you can make up something if you try. Valentines are generally doggerel." "Need it be quite original?" asked Edith. "Well, if you really can't compose anything, we'll allow quotations." "Cracker mottoes?" suggested Dulcie. "Exactly. They're just about in the right style." "Are you all getting into a sentimental vein?" giggled Bertha. "Remember 'Love' rhymes with 'Dove,' and Cupid with—with—" "Stupid," supplied Dulcie laconically. "I'm not going to give my rhymes away beforehand," said Phillida. "Is that shuffling business finished, Gowan? Then bags me first draw." Each girl, having been apportioned the name of her valentine, set to work to compose a suitable ode in her honor. There was much knitting of brows and nibbling of pencils, and demands for a few minutes longer, when Gowan called "Time!" At last, however, the effusions were all finished, folded, shuffled, and laid in a pile. Gowan, as "TO PHILLIDA "Who wrote that?" asked Phillida, glancing keenly round the circle. "Noreen, I believe you're looking conscious! I always suspect people who say they can't write." "I! No, indeed!" declared Noreen. "You may make guesses, but nobody's to confess or deny authorship till the end," put in Gowan hastily. "Remember, valentines are always supposed to be anonymous. Now I'm going to read another. "TO LILIAS "Very sweet—quite sugary, in fact," agreed Lilias. "It's the sort of motto you get out of a superior cracker with gelatine paper on the outside, and trinkets inside. There ought to be a ring with all that. I believe it's Prissie's, but I'm not sure it isn't by Bertha." "You mayn't have two guesses!" reminded Gowan, reaching for another paper. "Hallo! this actually to me! I feel quite shy!" "Go on! You're not usually afflicted with shyness," urged the others. "TO GOWAN "H'm! He might have signed 'Robbie Burns' at the end of it!" commented Gowan. "Seems to take it for granted I'm doing half of the grieving. No, thanks! I prefer to 'flout them' like Phillida. He may go away with his old broken heart if he likes. That's not my idea of a valentine." "Certainly; and if I set this down to you, perhaps I'll not be far out. Who comes next? Oh! Bertha. "TO BERTHA "Edith! Dulcie! Phillida!—Oh! I can't guess!" laughed Bertha. "There's not the least clue! Go on, Gowan! I'll plump for Phillida." The next on the list was— "TO NOREEN "I wish there were!" chirped Edith. "You haven't guessed yet!" "Oh, well, I guess you!" "I hope it's my turn next," said Prissie. "No, it happens to be Dulcie," retorted Gowan. "You'll probably be the last of all. "TO DULCIE "But not as poetical as mine!" contended Noreen. "Oh, go on!" said Edith. "I'm sure I'm next!" And so she was. "TO EDITH "I haven't got a swan neck! It's no longer than other people's, I'm sure!" protested Edith indignantly, looking round the circle for the offender. "Who wrote such stuff?" "There, don't get excited, child!" soothed Gowan. "'Edith of the Swan Neck' was a historical character. Don't you remember? She ought to have married King Harold, only she didn't, somehow. It's meant as a compliment, no doubt!" "I believe you wrote it yourself!" "TO PRISSIE "Author! Author!" cried Prissie. "It's Lilias, I do believe!" "Guessing's been horribly wrong!" said Gowan. "Only about one of you was right. Shall I read the list? "To Phillida by Dulcie. "Well, I drew my own name, you see. I had to write something! Bertha ought to have a prize for guessing right, only we've nothing to give her. Shall we play something else?" "Prissie's brought a pack of cards, and she says she'll tell our fortunes," proclaimed Edith. "I learnt how in the holidays," confessed Prissie. "A girl was staying with us who had a book about it. We used to have ripping fun every evening over it. Whose fortune shall I tell first? Oh, don't all speak at once! Look here, you'd better each cut, and the lowest shall win." Dulcie, who turned up an ace, was the lucky one, and was therefore elected as the first to consult the oracle. By Prissie's orders she shuffled the cards, then handed them back to the sorceress, who laid them out face upward in rows, and after a few moments' meditation began her prophecies. "You're fair, and therefore the Queen of Diamonds is your representative card—all the luck's behind you instead of facing you. I see a disappointment and great changes. A dark woman is coming into your life. She's connected somehow with money, but there are hearts behind "Haven't you anything nicer to tell me than that?" pouted Dulcie. "Who's the dark woman?" "She seems to be a relation, by the way the cards are placed." "I haven't any dark relations. They're all as fair as fair—the whole family." "It's silly nonsense! I don't believe in it!" declared Lilias emphatically. "I dare say it is, but it's fun, all the same. Do tell mine now, Prissie!" urged Noreen, gathering up the cards and reshuffling them. Before the fates could be further consulted, however, the big bell clanged for preparation, and the magician was obliged to pocket her cards, hurry downstairs, get out her lesson books, and write a piece of French translation, while the inquirers into her mysteries also separated, some to practise piano or violin, and some to study. "A dark woman!" scoffed Dulcie, spilling the ink in her scorn as she filled her fountain pen. "Any gypsy would have told me a fortune like that. I'll let you know when she comes along, Prissie!" "All serene! Bring her to school if you like!" laughed Prissie. "You didn't let me finish, or I might have gone on to something nicer. There "What things?" "Oh, I shan't tell you now, when you only make fun of them! Sh! sh! Here's Miss Herbert!" And Prissie, turning away from her comrade, opened her French dictionary and plunged into the difficulties of her page of translation from Racine. |