A Popular Schoolgirl

few days after the incident at the Abbey he turned up at school, to her immense astonishment, and asked leave from Miss Burd to take her out to tea at a café. It had been an old promise on his part, ever since Ingred went to the hostel, but it had hung fire so long that she had come to regard it as one of those piecrust promises that elder members of a family frequently make, and never find it convenient to carry out. She had reminded Egbert of it at intervals all through the autumn term, then had given it up as “a bad job.” To find him waiting for her in Miss Burd’s study, ready to escort her to the Alhambra tearooms, seemed like a fairy tale come true. She whisked off at once to make the best possible toilet in the circumstances, and reappeared smilingly ready. When you have tea every day at a long table full of girls, the meal is apt to grow monotonous, and it was a welcome change to take it instead in a gay Oriental room with Moorish decorations and luxurious armchairs, and a platform in a corner, where musicians were giving a capital concert. Ingred leaned back on an embroidered cushion and ate cakes covered with pink sugar, and listened to a violin solo followed by some charming songs, and watched the gay crowd sitting at the other small tables. It was really delightful to be out just with Egbert alone. It made her feel almost grownup. Moreover, he was in such a remarkably generous mood. He set no limit to the supply of cakes, and he stopped at the counter as they went downstairs and bought her a box of chocolates and a large packet of Edinburgh rock. He even went further, for as they walked round the square together, and looked into the window of a fancy shop, he told her to choose her birthday present, and agreed amicably when she selected a morocco-leather bag which was for the moment the summit of her dreams. She parted from him at the College gates in deepest gratitude. This was indeed something like a brother!

“You’re an absolute trump!” she assured him.

“Well, a fellow’s always got a decent sister to take about, anyway,” he replied enigmatically, a remark over which Ingred pondered, but could not fathom.

She mentioned the jaunt at the family supper-table on Friday evening. To her immense surprise her innocent remark had somewhat the effect of a bomb. Mr. Saxon turned to his son with a sudden keen expression, as if he had convicted him of a crime. Mrs. Saxon’s face also was full of suppressed meaning, while Egbert colored furiously, looked thunderous at his sister, and relapsed into sulky silence. Poor Ingred felt that she had, quite unconsciously, put her foot in it, though how or why she could not tell. She said no more at the time, and when, afterwards, she ventured to refer again to the subject, she was so tremendously shut up that she saw clearly it was discreet to make no further inquiry. Plainly there was some tremendous quarrel between Egbert and his father, for they were barely on speaking terms.

Mr. Saxon threw out occasional inuendoes that caused his son finally to stump from the room. Mrs. Saxon went about with a cloud of distress on her face, and Quenrede, to whom Ingred applied for enlightenment, promptly and pointedly changed the subject. It was miserably uncomfortable, for father and son were like two Leyden jars charged with electricity, and ready to let fly at any moment. It was only the mother’s influence that averted a family thunderstorm. Athelstane, too, seemed in the depths of gloom. He was willing, however, to communicate his woes.

“I want a whole heap more medical books,” he confided to his sister, “and Dad says he can’t get them, and I must manage without. How on earth can I manage without. What’s the use of my going to College if I haven’t the proper textbooks? I can’t always be borrowing. If I fail in my exams, it will be his fault, not mine. He’s the most absolutely unreasonable man anybody could have to deal with. Of course I know they’re expensive, and funds are low, but I’ve simply got to have them, or chuck up medicine!”

“It’s so terrible to be poor!” sighed Quenrede, thinking of the old, happy prewar days at Rotherwood, when everything came so easily, and there were no struggles to make ends meet.

She talked the matter over afterwards with Ingred.

“If I could only help somehow!” she mourned. “I’ve often thought I might go out and earn something, but Mother’s not strong, and I really do a great deal in the house. If I went away and left her with only ‘The Orphan,’ she’d be laid up in a fortnight. As it is, she tries to do far too much. How could we possibly get some money for Athelstane’s books? We’d rather die than ask our friends!”

Ingred shook her head sadly. Wild ideas surged through her mind of disguising herself and sweeping a crossing⁠—there were stories of wealthy crossing-sweepers⁠—or rivaling Charlie Chaplin on the cinema stage, but somehow they did not seem quite practicable for a girl of sixteen. She left Quenrede’s question unanswered. It was only late on Saturday afternoon that a great idea came to her. Great⁠—but so overwhelming that she winced at the bare notion. It was as if some inner voice said to her: “Sell Derry!” Now Derry, the fox terrier, was her very own property. He had been given to her two years before by a cousin as a birthday present. He was of prize breed, and had brought his pedigree with him. He was a smart, bright little fellow, and on the whole a favorite in the household, though he sometimes got into trouble for jumping on to the best chairs and leaving his hairs on the cushions. It had never particularly struck Ingred that Derry was of