The Girls of St. Wode's Part 31

"Not yet, anyhow," she said to herself. "If she will confess, I think Mr. Parker will forgive her, but I cannot be the one to ruin her whole life."

Leslie struggled hard to regain her ordinary calmness; but, try as she would, she could not get it back. Annie had hurt her too deeply. To take a letter purporting to be written in her hand to Mr. Parker, to borrow money in her name, to get Mr. Parker to think so badly of her. Oh, the sin was too dark; it cut too sore; it lay too deep.

Leslie s.h.i.+vered as she returned slowly to the house. Eileen Chetwynd met her in the quadrangle and ran up eagerly.

"We were looking for you, Leslie," she cried. "We wanted you to come on the water with us this lovely afternoon. Have you a headache? You don't look well."

"Perhaps I have a headache; but I don't quite know," replied Leslie.

"You don't quite know? You look queer."

"I will go upstairs and lie down." Leslie ran past Eileen, who stared after her in some wonder.

When Leslie entered her room, Annie, still buried in her novel, was crouched up on the window-sill. Her books, papers, and problems were pushed aside; her hair was rumpled, her cheeks slightly flushed; nevertheless, there was an expression of rest about her face that Leslie had never before seen there. She turned away from her, feeling that she could scarcely bear to inhabit the same room. For the first time in her gentle life hatred of another was visiting her. Her religious principles did not come to her aid in this crisis; she felt a sense of being crushed, she felt sure that because of this thing she must go halt and maimed for the remainder of her days.

Annie looked up as she came in.

"Had a good time?" she asked in a light, careless sort of voice.

"I was down by the river," replied Leslie coldly.

"Has your visitor gone?" asked Annie, not noticing the tone.

"Yes. He returned to London by the 5.30."

Leslie wondered that Annie did not take alarm when she heard that her visitor had come from London; but the possibility of Mr. Parker's appearing at Wingfield had evidently never entered her brain. She turned another page of her novel, and read on contentedly.

"How good it is to have a whole afternoon's real rest," she said; "and this book is splendid. By the way, have you read it-'The Caxtons,' by Bulwer Lytton?"

"Yes; I have read it," replied Leslie in a low voice.

"Don't you want to make any tea this afternoon?" said Annie. "I am so thirsty."

"I don't care about tea to-night," replied Leslie.

"We shall be going down to dinner in less than an hour."

Annie stifled a sigh, and once more resumed her book. Leslie went and sat with her back to her. She took up a book, but she could not read. As a rule, it was Leslie's task and privilege to get tea for them both.

Annie missed her companion's gentle attentions. After a minute or two she tumbled down from her seat on the window-sill, and began in a perfunctory manner to get ready for dinner.

Leslie also rose, shook out her dress, put on a fresh tie and collar, and smoothed her hair.

"You are not making much of a toilet this evening," said Annie.

"Oh, I shall do very well," replied Leslie.

"Do! I should think you will," said Annie in a tone almost of affection.

"If I had as pretty a face as yours, I should not much mind how I dressed; or, yes, perhaps I should. Perhaps I should give up my whole life to my beautiful face, and spend all my time devising means to make it still more attractive."

"Don't," said Leslie in a sharp voice. The thought that Mr. Parker also supposed that she was vain enough and despicable enough to go into debt for fine clothes returned to her memory with Annie's words.

"You look sweet," said Annie. "Come along, take my arm. I am in a mighty good humor, I can tell you, and as hungry as a hawk. I missed the tea which you, you kind little roomfellow, have generally got for me."

"Go on; don't wait for me," said Leslie. "I have forgotten a handkerchief."

She ran back just when they reached the door. Annie, in some wonder, went downstairs alone. Leslie waited until she had gone.

"Oh, G.o.d help me to bear it!" she said, raising a piteous cry to the One who alone could help her. Then, feeling a little better, she went downstairs, and took her place at table.

When dinner was over, one or two girls came up to invite both Annie and Leslie to join them at a cocoa-party.

Leslie looked at Annie with a sort of suppressed eagerness.

"She will be going out presently," thought the girl. "She will be going to meet that bad fellow, to give him the money-the money which has ruined my life. I shall watch her. I hate being with her, and yet I cannot keep away from her."

She waited for Annie to speak again.

"Do you want to go?" she said.

"No; I cannot go this evening," said Annie; "but it will be all right for you, Leslie. You will go, will you not?"

"I shall stay with you." said Leslie in a dogged sort of voice.

The girls who had invited them looked somewhat surprised and disappointed. They said nothing more, however; and Leslie and Annie went upstairs once more to their own room. Annie went and stood by the open window.

"What can be the matter with you?" she said, turning to her companion.

"You do look very queer. You have not been a bit like yourself for the last hour or two."

Leslie made no reply.

Annie glanced at her again.

"It is so hot to-night," she said. "I am going out for a stroll. I may not be in until half-past ten, or even later. Why, Leslie Gilroy, you are quite glaring at me; your eyes have got the queerest expression."

"Never mind about my eyes," replied Leslie. "I have something to say."

Her quiet was over; she knew that the time for action had come.

"Annie Colchester," she said, "I know where you are going. You have got a chance, one chance; will you take it?"

"You know where I am going, and I have got a chance-what do you mean?

How very queer you look!"

"I will tell you in a few words exactly what I mean. I know everything.

There is time yet. Annie, Annie, you cannot mean really to ruin me. I have always been kind to you-that is, I have tried to be kind. You cannot mean quite to ruin me, Annie."

"To ruin you-to ruin you, Leslie? No; I don't mean to ruin you."

It was now Annie's turn to look pale; her eyes, startled and alarmed, glanced from Leslie to the ground.