Tom and Some Other Girls | Page 5

she drew herself up proudly. "No, indeed! If I go at all, I will do
the thing properly, and go to a real school, and not a hot-house. I don't
want their old beef-tea and bottles. I want to go to a nice, big, sporty
school, where they treat you like boys, and not young ladies, and put
you on your honour, and don't bind you down by a hundred sickening
little rules. I want to go to,"--she drew a long breath, and glanced at her
mother, as if bracing herself to meet opposition--"to Hurst Manor!
There! I've read about it in magazines, and Ella Mason had a cousin
who had been there, and she said it was--simply mag.! She was Head
Girl, and ruled the house, and came out first in the games, and she said

she never had such sport in her life, and found the holidays quite
fearfully flat and stale in comparison."
"You don't become Head Girl all at once," interposed Harold, drily;
while Mrs Chester gave another sob at the idea that home could ever be
looked upon in so sad a light.
"Hurst Manor?" she repeated vaguely. "That's a strange name. I never
heard of the place before. What do you know about it that makes you
want to go, darling? Are you quite sure it is nice, and what is the Head
Mistress like, and how many young la-- girls does she take? Not too
many, I hope, for I can't see how they can be properly looked after
when there are more than twenty or thirty. I've heard terrible stories of
delicacy for life arising from neglect. You remember poor, dear Evie
Vane! Her glands swelled, and nobody noticed, and--"
"My glands never swell. They know better. Over two hundred girls,
mother; but they are divided into different houses, with a staff of
teachers in charge of each, so there's no fear of being neglected; and it's
much more fun living in a crowd. I'm tired of talking to the same
people over and over again, and should love a variety. Among the
hundred girls, one would be sure to find one or two whom one could
really like."
Harold laughed again, a sleepy laugh, which brought a flash into his
sister's eyes. That was the worst of Harold; he was so superior! He
never argued, nor contradicted, but he had a way of smiling to himself,
of throwing back his head and half shutting his eyes, which made
Rhoda feel as if throwing cushions at him would be the only adequate
relief to her feelings. She glared at him for a moment, and then turned
her back on him in a marked manner and addressed herself to her
father.
"You will write to Miss Bruce at once, won't you, father, and arrange
for me to go at the beginning of the term?"
"I will write for particulars, or, better still, your mother and I will go
down to see the place for ourselves. I should like you to go to the

school you fancy, if it can be arranged, and I suppose this is as good as
any."
"Better!" Rhoda declared rapturously, "a thousand times better! Ella
Mason said so; and she knows, because her cousin's sisters have all
been at different schools--one at Cheltenham, one at Saint Andrew's,
one at Wycombe, and she declares that Hurst beats them all. It must be
so, since it has adopted all the good ideas and abandoned the bad." She
went on with a rambling statement which seemed to imply that Miss
Bruce had been in turn sole proprietor of each of these well-known
schools before abandoning them in favour of her new establishment;
that Hurst Manor buildings had been recently erected, at vast expense,
to provide every possible convenience for the pupils, and at the same
time was a nobleman's seat of venerable interest; that sports and games
formed the chief interest of the pupils, lessons being relegated to an
appropriate secondary position; while, astonishing to relate, the
honours in all University examinations fell to "Hurst girls," and every
woman who had made a name for herself had graduated from its ranks!
She detailed these interesting items of information with sublime
assurance; and, when Harold mildly pointed out inconsistencies,
retorted scornfully that she supposed she might be allowed to know,
since Ella's cousin had said so, and she had been there, and seen for
herself! Mrs Chester supported her by murmurs of assent, and little
warning frowns to her son, which in dumb language signified that he
was to be a good boy, and not aggravate his sister; and Mr Chester put
his arm round her waist, and looked down at her, half smiling, half
pitiful. The pitiful expression grew, and became so marked that