An Unsocial Socialist | Page 6

"I forgot that. Well?"
"Now write, 'I am very sorry that Miss Wilson saw me when I slid
down the banisters this evening. Jane Carpenter.'"
"Is that all?"
"That's all: unless you wish to add something of your own
composition."
"I hope it's all right," said Jane, looking suspiciously at Agatha.
"However, there can't be any harm in it; for it's the simple truth.
Anyhow, if you are playing one of your jokes on me, you are a nasty
mean thing, and I don't care. Now, Gertrude, it's your turn. Please look
at mine, and see whether the spelling is right."
"It is not my business to teach you to spell," said Gertrude, taking the
pen. And, while Jane was murmuring at her churlishness, she wrote in a
bold hand:
"I have broken the rules by sliding down the banisters to-day with Miss
Carpenter and Miss Wylie. Miss Wylie went first."
"You wretch!" exclaimed Agatha, reading over her shoulder. "And your
father is an admiral!"
"I think it is only fair," said Miss Lindsay, quailing, but assuming the
tone of a moralist. "It is perfectly true."
"All my money was made in trade," said Agatha; "but I should be
ashamed to save myself by shifting blame to your aristocratic shoulders.
You pitiful thing! Here: give me the pen."
"I will strike it out if you wish; but I think "

"No: it shall stay there to witness against you. How see how I confess
my faults." And she wrote, in a fine, rapid hand:
"This evening Gertrude Lindsay and Jane Carpenter met me at the top
of the stairs, and said they wanted to slide down the banisters and
would do it if I went first. I told them that it was against the rules, but
they said that did not matter; and as they are older than I am, I allowed
myself to be persuaded, and did."
"What do you think of that?" said Agatha, displaying the page.
They read it, and protested clamorously.
"It is perfectly true," said Agatha, solemnly.
"It's beastly mean," said Jane energetically. "The idea of your finding
fault with Gertrude, and then going and being twice as bad yourself! I
never heard of such a thing in my life."
"'Thus bad begins; but worse remains behind,' as the Standard
Elocutionist says," said Agatha, adding another sentence to her
confession.
"But it was all my fault. Also I was rude to Miss Wilson, and refused to
leave the room when she bade me. I was not wilfully wrong except in
sliding down the banisters. I am so fond of a slide that I could not resist
the temptation."
"Be warned by me, Agatha," said Jane impressively. "If you write
cheeky things in that book, you will be expelled."
"Indeed!" replied Agatha significantly. "Wait until Miss Wilson sees
what you have written."
"Gertrude," cried Jane, with sudden misgiving, "has she made me write
anything improper? Agatha, do tell me if--"
Here a gong sounded; and the three girls simultaneously exclaimed
"Grub!" and rushed from the room.

CHAPTER II
One sunny afternoon, a hansom drove at great speed along Belsize
Avenue, St. John's Wood, and stopped before a large mansion. A young
lady sprang out; ran up the steps, and rang the bell impatiently. She was
of the olive complexion, with a sharp profile: dark eyes with long
lashes; narrow mouth with delicately sensuous lips; small head, feet,
and hands, with long taper fingers; lithe and very slender figure moving
with serpent-like grace. Oriental taste was displayed in the colors of her
costume, which consisted of a white dress, close-fitting, and printed
with an elaborate china blue pattern; a yellow straw hat covered with
artificial hawthorn and scarlet berries; and tan-colored gloves reaching
beyond the elbow, and decorated with a profusion of gold bangles.
The door not being opened immediately, she rang again, violently, and
w as presently admitted by a maid, who seemed surprised to see her.
Without making any inquiry, she darted upstairs into a drawing-room,
where a matron of good presence, with features of the finest Jewish
type, sat reading. With her was a handsome boy in black velvet, who
said:
"Mamma, here's Henrietta!"
"Arthur," said the young lady excitedly, "leave the room this instant;
and don't dare to come back until you get leave."
The boy's countenance fell, and he sulkily went out without a word.
"Is anything wrong?" said the matron, putting away her book with the
unconcerned resignation of an experienced person who foresees a storm
in a teacup. "Where is Sidney?"
"Gone! Gone! Deserted me! I--" The young lady's utterance failed, and
she threw herself upon an ottoman, sobbing with passionate spite.
"Nonsense! I thought Sidney had more sense. There, Henrietta, don't be
silly. I suppose you have quarrelled."

"No! No!! No!!!" cried