NB: All of the excerpts about folk dancing below are © the estate of Elsie J. Oxenham

The Abbey Girls in Town (1925)

This is the last book where the English Folk Dance Society features heavily. Here we see the 'Abbey girls' attending a Christmas folk dance school at Chelsea Polytechnic, as well as a performance by poor children taught by new folk convert Mary.

From Chapter 3: 'Mary Explains'

“We’re very glad to see you!” Mary began, and Ruth wondered what was coming. “But you’ve come at a queer time. You find us a preoccupied family! Our minds are full of one thing, and even your coming won’t interfere with it. We hope you’ll be interested; but even for you we can’t give up a thing we’ve looked forward to for so long and so keenly.”

Biddy gave a subdued chuckle. “Four days more! I couldn’t sleep last night; but I wasn’t thinking of you, Ruth!”

“Do tell me!” Ruth leaned forward and spoke in mock excitement to match their thrilled tones. “Is Biddy going to get married?”

“No, but we’re going to Chelsea!” Biddy proclaimed exuberantly. “Much more exciting than getting married!”

“It’s been the dream of our life, - for the last six months, anyway. Poor Ruth! It is a shame! I’ll explain,” Mary said kindly. “We’ve been going to classes in folk dancing ever since last May, Ruth, and they’ve been the joy of our lives. But we don’t go to the official classes, which cost rather a lot for us. We go to a girls’ club, taught by Jen Robins; she’s taught us all we know. And we’re certain no classes could be jollier than hers.”

“And no one could be a better teacher!” Biddy interrupted loyally.

“But Jen keeps saying we ought to go to what she calls “proper classes.” Every holidays there’s a special week or fortnight, when classes are held every day, and people come from all over the country to go to them. The Christmas School is always held in London, at the Chelsea Polytechnic; and Jen has been teasing us to go to it. It costs a little, and at first we hardly thought we ought to do it. But when I got a little extra money, quite apart from my ordinary pay, the very first thing I decided to do with it was Chelsea.”

“Your articles!” Ruth cried eagerly. “Congrats, Mary! I’ve only read the first one so far, but Biddy has been telling me. I’m proud to be related to an authoress. You’ll let me see the others, won’t you? I hope you’ve kept copies?”

Mary flushed. “It’s rather fun,” she admitted. “Jen and Joy were so keen for me to try; they’re rather pleased I’ve had some published so soon. At first we had to use to money for clothes we were needing; but when I got a cheque for five guineas all at once, I went straight off and paid our fees for the Christmas School. I’ve a week’s leave from the office, and Biddy is having holidays. The School starts two days after Christmas, and we shall be there all day until evening. You’ll be able to do your sightseeing and shopping and so on, just as if we were at ordinary work. I’m just afraid we may bore you by talking shop in the evenings! We shall be so full of it all. But we’ll try to subdue our excitement for your sake.”

“And be very kind to me! Please don’t trouble! Why shouldn’t I be interested too?”

“If she’s sensible, she’ll come to Chelsea and see it for herself,” said Biddy, from her perch on the stool in the dark. “Then she’ll be fascinated, too, and then she’ll understand and not think us crazy.”

“Can I come to watch? I’d love to see what your dancing’s like. And - oh, would I see all the people you talked about in your letter? The Pixie person? And will Jen be there? Is that what she meant by “after Christmas”?”

“That’s it. Everybody will be there!” Biddy said exuberantly. “Joy’s coming up to live in town for the week, and she’s bringing Ros and Maidie with her, and I shall see them every day. Rosamund’s my age and Maidlin’s fifteen, and it’s their first school, too. They’d planned to go to the summer one, but Maidie took measles at the end of the term and put them all in quarantine, so they had to give up the idea. They’re wild with excitement at the thought of coming to Chelsea, and having a week in London! You’ll like them, Ruth. You must come; - every day, if you like. Jen and Joy have been before, and they’ve told us heaps about it.”

“There’s folk singing every morning, and a lecture at night; and there are demonstrations of the dances by the best dancers in the country,” Mary added.

“You’ll see Madam dance,” Biddy said joyfully. “I’m longing to see her dance again! She’s the teacher Joy and Jen like the best, Ruth.”

“No, I’m afraid she won’t,” Mary remarked. “Madam isn’t coming to Chelsea. Jen told me so tonight.”

“Not - coming? But why not? They can’t have a school without her!” Biddy cried indignantly. “How can she bear to stay away? What’s the matter with her?”

“She’s sure to have a good reason. Perhaps she wants a rest,” Mary suggested, gazing into the fire. “Perhaps she doesn’t like Chelsea.”

“She was there last year! Joy said so. I think it’s just mean of her! “ Biddy cried wrathfully. “I want to see her dance, and I want Ruth to see her! I don’t want to be in her class; I’d be scared of her! But I was looking forward to seeing her dance!”

“There are plenty of others,” Mary was taking Madam’s withdrawal more calmly. Jen was in Madam’s confidence, and had been definite about the reason. “You won’t see all the new friends we’ve made, I’m afraid, Ruth. Cicely Everett and Joan Raymond, the married ones, are both staying down in the country and don’t mean to come up to town at present. But you’ll like Joy and Jen. We felt a little guilty when we heard you would arrive before the week’s school, for fear you’d be utterly bored; but we’d arranged it all by then and didn’t want to draw back.”

“Oh, but I don’t think I shall be bored! I’m looking forward to it! I shall come as a visitor, and watch all your classes. I want to see you doing things in that tunic!”

From Chapter 5: 'Nine-thirty at Chelsea'

“And now the fun begins!” Biddy proclaimed excitedly. “Your quiet Christmas is over, Ruth!”

“It didn’t strike me as so frightfully quiet!” Ruth retorted. “Christmas music in the Abbey with you, while Mary cooked a real English Christmas dinner; the theatre for us all on Boxing Day, and a lot of running round London seeing things I ought to see; and yesterday, you so excited at the nearness of Chelsea that Mary had to beg me to take you to the pictures, so that she’d get rid of you for a couple of hours and be able to type and send off an article! I feel we’ve done fairly well!”

“Christmas is a time you have to spend with your own family. You can’t ask people to come and see you, because they’re all with their families, too,” Mary remarked.

“And so I’ve been jolly lucky to have you two to run about London with! Christmas in a hotel doesn’t appeal to me at all. I’ve had just what I wanted,” Ruth assured her. “And if you’re full of your dancing and your own friends for the next week, I’ll forgive you. I quite understand what a great occasion it is!”

“I don’t think you can, quite. But you may do by tonight,” Mary told her, laughing.

“Haven’t I seen Biddy’s crescendo of excitement ever since Christmas Eve? Haven’t I seen yours, though you’re so quiet about it? Your eyes are shiny and your cheeks are burning, just because it’s so thrilling to have breakfast in your tunic instead of wearing proper clothes and going off to the office!” Ruth mocked.

“Well, it is a little more exciting than the office!” Mary pleaded, and hurriedly cleared the table. “We’ll wash up at night. That’s exciting, too, and forbidden as a rule. If we once begin leaving dirty dishes about, we’d soon not be able to get into the scullery. But - nine thirty at Chelsea!”

“It’s quite a good excuse!” Ruth agreed.

“Chelsea! Oh, cheers!” and Biddy checked herself in the very act of turning a somersault. “No, I won’t. I’d have to do my hair again. I must be decent. I can’t have Ros and Maidie saying I look a fright!”

“Shoes - ticket - money - handkerchiefs; I’m ready!” Mary announced.

“Why, how many handkerchiefs do you need? What are you going to do? Weep?” Ruth teased.

“You’ll see presently, dear,” Biddy said kindly.

Ruth did see before long, when a class of thirty stood ranged in a small hall, every girl with a big handkerchief in each hand. Intensely interested, Ruth sat in a corner to watch. She was bewildered, too, however, for Mary had spoken of six hundred students; here were only thirty, and the hall would obviously not hold any more for dancing. It was a Boy Scouts’ hall, and the walls held weird symbolic trophies, totem signs, and photographs of camping and sporting events, while the room was decorated with strings of flags and pennons, the remains of Christmas festivities.

The students were mostly girls, who all wore tunics; there were two men in flannels, who looked lonely, and brightened up appreciably when two more appeared. Ruth knew it was a “Grade II” class, though what that implied she did not know. She watched the revision of “Blue Eyed Stranger,” with amazed interest in the morris movements, and stared incredulously at Mary when she found the amount of energy this dancing demanded.

The class came to grief at once in its “one-hop, one-hop, step, and jump,” and the sets were ruthlessly broken up and bidden to make a big ring and practise steps. The teacher was full of energy and lost no time; her orders and criticisms were emphatic; Ruth laughed as Mary and Biddy came in for attention, but saw they had quite forgotten her.

Already, in this first class, they had found friends, though they had told Ruth they knew no one who would be there. At sight of someone all in brown, tunic and coat and shoes, Mary had turned in astonishment to Biddy - “There’s that Writing Person! But how weird! She can’t be in this grade!” - and when a moment’s interval came for rest, she went to ask the explanation.

“You were in the advanced class, with Jen Robins and Joy Shirley, when I saw you first!” she remonstrated. “Grade VII, at least!”

“Yes, but keep quiet about it!” and the Writing Person’s eyes laughed behind her glasses. “I don’t want any one to know. My “step-and-jump” is quite bad; it always has been. It’s worth a week to try to get it right. I’m really here because I’ve a friend whose first School it is; I promised to go into classes with her. That long child over there, making friends with your sister, is with me. She’s one of my Camp Fire Girls; we’ve come together. She and your Biddy are the only two youngsters; that’s quite enough introduction!”

Mary looked at the tall brown eyed schoolgirl, in a very short blue tunic and very long thin legs, and a long dark plait, who had swung herself up on to the vaulting horse and invited Biddy up too. “How jolly for her to come! And how nice of you to give up your own classes to be with her!”

“Oh, but it isn’t. I’m enjoying this. I love being in a class where I know the work and don’t have to worry. As a matter of fact, I skipped Grade II; I had a strained muscle and had to give up Headington dances at one time. It’s dogged my career at every step. As soon as the Advanced crowd begin on “Laudnum Bunches,” I go to pieces. So I’ve come back to learn it properly. And I’ve always been in trouble for my step-and-jump; out of time, you know.”

Mary nodded, laughing. “Mine’s bad, too. But I never expect to be really good at morris. I’m glad I’ve begun it, though, and that was partly due to you. Do you remember telling me I ought to try?”

“You looked on so longingly. Have you seen Joy Shirley yet? Heard the news? Oh, then, I won’t tell you! I couldn’t spoil it for her. I met her just now, outside the Polytechnic, and she had to tell somebody. You’ll hear before long!”

“How unkind of you!” Mary said, laughing, but did not look particularly troubled at being kept in suspense.

“How is your book getting on?”

Mary flushed. “How nice of you to remember! I’m working at it. I think I’ve done about half, but I can’t quite tell.”

“Of course not. But don’t make it too long, you know. It’s easier to lengthen than to cut down; at least, I think so! And much pleasanter! It’s horrible to have to cut your work to pieces. I once cut out fifteen thousand words. I felt very bad about it ,at the time’ but I believe the result was good.”

“Oh, it would be awful to have to do that!” Mary cried.

“Don’t let yours run away with you, or perhaps you’ll have to do it, too! Now we must go and do some more “step-and-jump”.”

The end of the hour came surprisingly soon, and Mary and Biddy tossed their handkerchiefs to Ruth to be folded neatly, and plunged into the noisy crowded dressing room to find their coats and shoes.

“Joy’s here, and she’s got something to tell us,” Mary told Biddy, as they hurried down the dark vaulted stone passage together. “So Ros and Maidie must be somewhere, too, unless Maidie’s got measles again.”

“That’s the Poly., Ruth; that huge building! There are a few people about, aren’t there?” Biddy laughed exuberantly, as they turned into Manresa Road, and saw girls and men approaching the great doorway from every direction.

The entrance steps and porch and vestibule were crowded with excited girls in tunics and dancing shoes, all greeting friends they had not seen for months. The Writer and her schoolgirl entered in front of Mary and Biddy, the tall girl’s eager eyes taking in everything; She was obviously as ready for the new experience as Mary herself. They met friends at once, and joined some girls met in the London classes.

With a shriek of joy, which drew amused glances in her direction, Biddy hurled herself on two schoolgirls, and Ruth looked eagerly to see the beloved “Ros and Maidie,” of whom she had heard so much. Rosamund was fair, with two long yellow pigtails, and wore a bright green knitted coat over her blue tunic; Maidlin, half Italian, was very dark, with shadowy eyes and dusky hair, a vivid study in contrasts, with her lemon coloured coat. They fell on Biddy also, and one more excited group was added to the crowd in the noisy corridor. It was a time of meetings, and no one who had found long lost friends took any notice of any one else whatever.

“I say, Mary Dorothy! Have you heard?” a tall girl with bright bronze hair and a masterful manner accosted Mary.

“Mary Dorothy, I’m a godmother once and perhaps twice over,” was the cryptic greeting of a still taller girl, with bobbed yellow curls and laughing face.

Ruth knew who they must be, and gazed at them critically. But they had no eyes for her, but cared only to see the effect of their news on “Mary Dorothy,” as they seemed to call Mary.

“We’ve had twins!” Joy proclaimed dramatically, to the joy of the crowd, whose jeers she ignored. “Well, almost twins; next thing to it, anyway. Joan and Cicely, you know. Joan had a daughter on Christmas Day; wasn’t it nice of her? A topping Christmas present for the Abbey!”

“It’s a very little Abbey Girl as yet,” Jen said happily. “But I’m sure she’ll be a nice one! Joy says she’s the image of her Auntie Joy; - and of Joan, of course!”

“And then the President went one better by going and having a boy on Boxing Day!” Joy grumbled. “We wanted a boy! I did, anyway! Jack and Joan seem quite pleased with Janetta, but I wanted an Abbey boy for a change. Just like the President! She always did want the whole earth; and got it!”

“I’m so glad! I do congratulate you both! - and the mothers and fathers, too, of course!” Mary said earnestly.

“Help! Isn’t it weird to think of any one calling old Joan “mother”?” Joy said wonderingly.

“We haven’t seen Cicely’s baby yet, of course,” - Rosamund had been telling the news to Biddy - “but Joy motored us down to see Janetta yesterday, on our way to town. She’s sweet! Only this size, of course; but she’s all there, all the bits of her. Somehow it seems funny for her to have toes and things so soon. You’d expect them to grow by degrees.”

“I’m glad one’s a boy. They’ll be partners,” Biddy was taking long views of life. “Is Joan’s really to be called Janetta?”

“After me. I’ve arranged that,” Jen said calmly. “I’m her godmother, of course. I’m willing to be a godmother for Cicely, too, if she asks me; I don’t mind obliging her in a little thing like that. But I couldn’t allow any one else to be godmother to Joan’s kid. Joan may go and call her something else, of course, though she’d promised to call her first daughter after me. But I must say I’ll be surprised if the child isn’t Janetta! I’m glad she’s a girl. I’d much rather have goddaughters than godsons; much easier to bring up, I assure you!”

“You having had so much experience!” Joy laughed. “I’m glad the Abbey twins have arrived; they may comfort their respective mas for having to miss this year’s School! Cecily and Joan were here with us, and not even married, this time last year! Isn’t it funny, the way things happen?”

“Come down and take your hat off, Mary Dorothy!” Jen commanded, and led the way down to the basement and through white corridors, to long ranges of cloakrooms, busy with happy excited girls. Biddy was already there with her companions, wondering at the size of the building, hopelessly lost in its mazes.

“Don’t go and leave me!” she implored. “I shall never get out again! You’ll come back next year and find me still wandering about those passages looking for the way out.”

“You can always ask the way to the front door and start from there,” Jen said helpfully. “That’s what I mean to do. It’s rather like an antheap, isn’t it? I say! Isn’t it fun being one of a huge crowd?”

“Every modern convenience!” Joy said proudly, as if she owned the building. “Yes, it does take some time to know your way about. The real test is whether you can find the door to the room across the yard; or get from the art rooms at the top to the downstairs gym without any unnecessary steps. I can’t! I always wander half a mile out of my way, and find myself on the wrong side of the building. The one place I can find is the refreshment room.”

“I feel I may never see my hat and coat again,” Mary said mournfully. “But perhaps you’ll be very kind and bring me back to them.”

Ruth had followed, and was listening and laughing at the chatter. A simultaneous shriek from Rosamund and Jen startled her, but Jen’s was more emphatic because charged with wrath, while Rosamund’s was merely surprise and delight.

“Biddy, what a jolly jacket!” as Biddy hung up her big coat.

“Mary Dorothy, where did you get that lovely coat? I thought you’d be wearing your old one. Here am I, with a beautiful violet coat new this Christmas, wearing my old blue jumper because I didn’t want to swank in a new one, and you said you’d only got your old one to wear; and here are you doing the swanking, in a simply lovely new one!” Jen’s voice rose in growing indignation. “Well, I do call that a mean trick! I’m going right home to get my new one!”

“Do! You’ll miss all the rest of the morning,” Joy advised.

“I’m very sorry,” Mary said, laughing. “I had no idea so much depended on what I wore! But how nice of you, Jenny Wren!”

“Where did you get it?” Jen demanded. “It’s the coat I was going to give you, and you chose brown and gold pottery instead! Have you pawned the pots?”

“I’m enjoying them more every time I use them! We’ve a kind cousin staying with us. Ruth, I forgot all about you! I’m sorry! But we told you how it would be.”

“You gave me fair warning. But I stuck to you for fear I’d never see you again.”

“We must hurry or we’ll never get seats upstairs,” Joy urged, when the introductions were over. “Are you children ready? Then follow the crowd, and we’ll come to the big hall!”

“If we can’t get seats, we’ll sit on the floor,” Rosamund said happily. “Nobody minds a little thing like that!”

Chapter 6 - A Blow for Mary

The big gym of the Chelsea Polytechnic was even more of an antheap than the dressing rooms, and a very much disturbed antheap at that. The whole six hundred students were gathered there, all excited, all happy, all looking for friends or greeting them eagerly. The noise was deafening; Ruth, bewildered but intensely interested, kept close to Mary and watched. Girls hung over the edge of the gallery to wave to friends just discovered below; girls on window sills called greetings to others who had climbed up on the ladders and bars of the gymnastic apparatus; girls ran about looking for chairs or song books.

Some one began to clap, and the hall rang with the welcome of six hundred folk dancers to their chief. The white haired Director appeared on the platform and smilingly acknowledged the greeting. He struck a chord on the piano, and silence fell; he announced “Number One,” and began to play a rippling accompaniment.

“How they sing!” Ruth murmured. “Oh, I love this part of it! And what pretty songs! And how beautifully he accompanies! Mary, is it all new to you, too?”

Mary nodded, but did not try to speak. The new experience had her in its grip; she was in a happy dream. For months the tunes of those songs brought back with a rush the whole feeling of excitement, enjoyment, expectation, enthusiasm, realisation by the whole crowd of a moment looked forward to for weeks.

The half hour’s singing was all too short. The Director gave out a few notices, and particularly warned newcomers against too hard work in the first few days - “I say this at every School, but nobody ever listens to me!”

“Old dear!” Joy murmured. “He does try to take care of us! Who minds being a little stiff tomorrow?”

“You don’t want not to be able to go downstairs at all, though,” Jen said cautiously. “You know nearly everybody, don’t you, Mary Dorothy? All the Staff people? He’s our Prophet” - she leaned across to Ruth. “We all love him! Cicely calls him the Prophet; and there’s his Joshua - his assistant, you know! We’re to have Mrs. Joshua for country dancing; I don’t know what she’ll be like. I’ve never had her before. Jump, Mary Dorothy! The avalanche is beginning!”

The Prophet’s tall young assistant had come to help clear the floor. The antheap was in movement again; floor space was appearing as if by magic, and the crowd was packing itself densely round the walls, while those in the gallery and on the platform looked on with comfortable superiority. Ruth found herself somehow sitting on the very dusty floor in front of the first row of chairs, while six dancers in blue or brown tunics and carrying handkerchiefs came out to dance “Laudnum Bunches.”

“Who’s that in Madam’s place?” Joy whispered jealously. “Isn’t it rotten without her? Who is she?”

“Don’t know her name,” Biddy said in reply. “But she’s teaching us morris. She’s a hustler!”

“I miss Madam!” Jen murmured sadly. “She’s a rotter! Bother - oh, well!”

Joy laughed. “I second that, Jenny Wren! We’re all missing her “something fearful.” But you must let arrange these little things as she thinks best.”

“She won’t be back all next term, either.”

“Sure she won’t!” Joy seemed to have no doubt of it.

“Which is the one you call the Pixie, Mary?” Ruth drew a long breath at the end of the dance. “Yes, Biddy, if that’s what it ought to look like, you aren’t good yet!”

“Oh, we all feel crushed during demonstrations!” Jen informed her.

“There, on the edge of the platform at this end - in a pretty yellow coat - beside the tall girl in lighter blue and the jolly dark one in the coat like Biddy’s. There having to tuck their feet up, or they’d kick those men in the front row, just under them.”

“Shall we speak to her?” Ruth looked curiously at the little person of whom she had heard so much.

The Pixie’s eyes fell on Joy and Jen at that moment, and her face lit up in a smile of eager greeting. She waved her hand. “Come and speak to me afterwards!” - then subsided, as the men came out carrying long sticks, to dance the Adderbury “Constant Billy.”

“I could go on watching this for ever!” Ruth murmured at the end. “But I’m sure they couldn’t go on dancing for ever! I never saw anything more exciting in my life! But fancy dancing being so thrilling!”

“It’s so full of life and strength and meaning,” Mary said soberly. “We saw a lot of it last summer, at the week’s festival. It’s very English; you wouldn’t expect us to have evolved a dreamy or a stately dance, as France or Spain might do.”

“I never thought of that. Yes, it is English!” Ruth conceded. “But it is for men, Mary! Why do you people try to do it?

“Because we can’t help it,” Mary said feebly.

“Because it’s such topping fun to do!” Jen told Ruth promptly. “Do you suppose it would have been kept up all these centuries if it hadn’t been? I simply love doing morris; we all do!”

The country dances appealed to Ruth as much as the morris, and seemed to her far more possible. She watched “Newcastle,” “Parson’s,” “Boatman,” and Mr. Beverage’s Maggot” with keen delight; then the Director rose from the piano and made a sweeping gesture with his hands; and in a moment the big hall was in wild confusion again, - girls running to the doors, climbing over chairs, jumping down from window sills, rushing after friends, seizing others by the arms with excited greetings - “How are you, old thing? I haven’t seen you since August!” - “So you’ve turned up again! I say, what grade are you in?” - “Meet me after the lecture for tea!” - “Righto! I want to hear how you’re getting on!” - “I say, congrats!” to a friend wearing a silver badge. “When did you get it? I hadn’t heard!”

“The Pixie leaned over the edge of the platform to speak to the Abbey crowd. “I say, I’ve got to go and find a man. I know he’s here somewhere. Meet me in this room after lunch, will you? And we’ll have a real good chat. I am so glad to see you here!” to Mary. “Are you enjoying it? I hope you’re enjoying yourself! And how are you?” to Rosamund and Maidlin, who were eyeing her eagerly from the background. “Isn’t it fun? You haven’t got measles now, have you?” to Maidlin. “I say, I must run or I shall never catch him! He was in my classes years ago, and I saw him during the singing. Goodbye!” and she was off.

“A Vacation School is not the place to talk to the Pixie!” Joy said solemnly. “She knows a thousand and one people, and they’re all here, and they all want to see her. If we get one good talk with her we’ll be lucky.”

“If we don’t, we’ll go and see her at the shop afterwards,” Jen remarked. “Now what about coffee?” and they pushed their way in a crowd into the still bigger crowd surging in and out of the refreshment room.

“I feel rather dishevelled but triumphant!” Jen said proudly, when she, Joy, and Rosamund emerged from the queue around the counter with two cups of coffee each and piles of biscuits in the saucers. “I haven’t spilt more than half of mine! Mary Dorothy, these are for you and your cousin. Sit down on those desks and enjoy it, and don’t argue. Biddy’s getting her own and Joy’s got mine, and Ros is seeing to Maidie; and there you are! You’re still tired after your morris,” she said severely. “You need looking after.”

“Biddy, have you heard Jen’s gorgeous plan for next term?” Rosamund cried, above the clatter of cups and voices, as Biddy appeared with her cup of coffee.

“I’ll tell them,” said Jen, perched on the lid of a desk, swinging her long legs. “Mary Dorothy, I’ve got to give up that club. Their gym leader is coming back, so they don’t need me any more; I only took them on for six months, you know. You’ll have to go to real proper classes; for, of course, you can’t stop now! But as you’re now a famous authoress you can afford it. I’m not going to be in London all spring.”

“Not - in London?” Mary looked at her with such blank dismay in her face that Jen’s heart smote her suddenly. She had never realised till that moment how much she had counted in Mary’s new life. Some of the joy in her plan left her abruptly. She had not thought of Mary’s point of view till then.

Mary put down her cup and stared at her. She, too, had not realised how she depended on Jen’s help, on her visits, on the constant sight of her at classes. She felt this blow far more keenly than the temporary loss of Madam from folk dance circles. It was as if Hyde Park or St. Paul’s had suddenly announced it was leaving London. The centre of everything would be gone if Jen were not in town.

Jen read something of this in her startled, frightened face; but not, for she could not know how much she had meant to Mary. She saw that she had unknowingly dealt her a severe blow, however.

She said swiftly, “You’ll have your cousin. You’re going to be very busy with her. She’ll keep you lively, won’t you?” to Ruth.

Ruth had been watching Mary. Forgotten time after time, she had had plenty of chances of watching, and even in this first hour one fact had been forced upon her.

“What a lot Mary thinks of these two, Jen and Joy! She hardly takes her eyes off them. I wonder if they’re good enough? She worships the ground they tread on! They don’t know it, but she thinks the world of them. It is queer, when they’re so much younger. Of course, they’re very jolly; and very fascinating when you know them, I’m sure. But - I wonder! I’ll have to wait and see.”

“Oh, I’ll keep her busy! She’ll have heaps to do, looking after me,” she said promptly. “Are you going home to Yorkshire again?”

Mary looked up, pulling herself together hastily, conscious that she might have betrayed too much. “Is your father so much better? Doesn’t he need to live in London now?”

“He isn’t better,” Jen said, her happy face clouding. “He’s to go to Paris for special treatment for three months. And I can’t live in London all alone, Mary Dorothy!”

“Aren’t you going too?”

“My sister in law from Glasgow is going with them. They meant me to go, too; but they don’t need me, and I’m not keen on Paris. So I’m going to stay at home and go to school again.”

“Jenny Wren! You’re grown up!”

“Since when?” Jen demanded indignantly. “I’m only nineteen! Do I look grown up?”

“Not at this moment, certainly,” Ruth said laughing.

“That’s only her tunic. She’s quite grown up!” Biddy insisted, listening round eyed. “They won’t have you at any school, Jen!”

“Oh, won’t they! I’m going back to Wycombe with Ros and Maidie. Miss Macey’s delighted to have me,” Jen said haughtily.

“Really?” Mary, her heart like lead, felt she must say something. “You’ll live with Joy at the Abbey, of course. How jolly for you!”

“They’re starting a special Domestic Science course at Wycombe,” Jen condescended to explain. “I’m going to learn how to put on patches, and all about washing up, and upholstering furniture; and cooking and dressmaking and hygiene, of course!”

“You won’t learn all that in one term!” Joy jeered.

“We’ll teach you to wash up, if you’ll come and stay with us,” Biddy suggested.

“Ros says Nesta and Molly and others of my old crowd are going to take the new course,” Jen explained. “Some of them have only just left, or haven’t left yet. I had to go home when I was sixteen, you know. Mother’s always been sorry, but she needed me. But she says now if I care to go back for a term, I may. And I jolly well do! It’s ripping just to think of it!”

“If you’ll stop all summer, we’ll make you the new Queen, Jen,” Rosamund, the reigning May Queen promised wistfully.

“You won’t need a maypole if you make Jen the Queen,” Joy mocked.

Jen rose majestically to her full height, and towered above her. “When I’m a schoolgirl, I shall wear a tunic all the time,” she announced. “You’ll be green with envy!”

“You won’t, then. Miss Macey won’t let you,” Rosamund warned her. “The Sixth aren’t allowed to, and you’re two feet taller than anybody in the Sixth.”

“Don’t you think it’s a topping plan, Mary Dorothy?” Jen looked at Mary keenly.

“Splendid! You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure. Shall I take your cup away?” Mary spoke bravely.

Jen looked after her with troubled eyes, but made no comment.

“Time’s up!” Joy said briskly. “Now for country! We go to the downstairs gym. Sure you can find Room G, Rosamunda?”

“Right to the top! We’ll go till we can’t go any higher, and then go round and round till we find it,” Rosamund said cheerfully. “Come on, Maidie!”

“Where on earth’s Room B?” Biddy demanded of Joy. “Our morris was away outside, round the corner, but Room B is somewhere in this huge place, isn’t it?”

“Yes - no! It’s across the yard. I’ll show you. We were there for morris. Fly, though! Or I’ll be late for my class,” and Joy ran off at full speed, all long flying legs, dodging through the crowd, with Mary and Biddy and Ruth plunging after her and trying vainly to keep her in sight.

“There!” Joy hurled herself downstairs and along passages and round corners, and at last pushed open a swing door. “Go straight on across the yard, that way, and you’ll find it on your left. Are you here for swords, too? Then you’ve a good chance of getting in to dinner early, if you can find your way. You’re quite close to the dining room,” and she vanished.

“I shouldn’t have thought we were quite near anywhere!” Mary panted. “Shall we ever find any of them again?”

“We’ll wander round till we do. It is a weird place!” Biddy chuckled, and went in search of Room B.

It was a long narrow hall, with doors and windows all along one side. Ruth slipped into a chair near the piano, and watched with increasing interest, and with deepening respect for the brains that could remember all these different dances and movements.

The class was revising for the Elementary Certificate, so was supposed to know the dances. This was not always the case, however, and “Newcastle” and “Picking Up Sticks” had to be taught afresh, while “The Old Mole” and “Hey, Boys” came in for severe criticism. The teacher was small, and very neat in her blue tunic, with dark hair and rosy cheeks which soon grew redder still with the excitement of keeping the class up to the mark. Ruth watched her quick, bird like movements with amused appreciation, but soon also formed a warm respect for her as a teacher, for she was very thorough and her knowledge of her work was absolute. Several of the students had continual questions to ask, about turns and hands and arms; no matter how suddenly they asked, or how abrupt the change from dance to dance, the answer came instantly, unhesitating, unerring; never once was there a moment’s pause or doubt, though Ruth began to suspect one or two girls of trying to puzzle her on purpose. She marked the register, looking carefully at each girl as her name was called; and knew most of them by the second day.

The sword class was revision also, and very thrilling to Ruth, who had never seen a sword dance. She watched the threedling of “Kirkby “ with wondering eyes, and with increasing respect for the teacher, who kept watch over four sets of dancers at once, and hopped from one to another as smartly as a sparrow, with tireless energy.

But while Ruth watched her and the whole class, she never lost sight of Mary, and she knew that Mary had not forgotten the news Jen had brought. She had recovered from the blow; she was laughing and interested, and seemed to be enjoying herself as much as any one. She remembered the dances well, and was seldom at fault, but Ruth saw she was not as good a dancer as most of the others; her movements were not as easy or graceful, though she was light enough on her feet; but she was, as she had said herself, stiff and sometimes awkward, trying to obey directions and to copy what she saw in others, without fully understanding how to do it.

While she was dancing, her whole mind was given to it, and she enjoyed herself fully and quite obviously loved every tune; she concentrated intently on the figure of the moment and had no time for wandering thoughts. But in the rest intervals there was a shadow on her face; she was no longer radiantly happy and excited, as Biddy still was; there was a cloud in the background, and it came down on her when she gave it the opportunity.

Ruth saw it, remembered her joyful face as she greeted Jen, her tone of admiring affection as she said, “How nice of you, Jenny Wren!” and half understood. She did not understand yet why Mary’s feeling for these two, Joy and Jen, was so deep; but she saw it was there, and that Mary was bruised and bewildered and all at sea at the prospect of having to do without Jen for some time.

When they had, by following others from the class, found the refreshment room, received their plates of hot meat and pudding from the kitchen, and secured seats at the end of one of the long tables, Mary was quiet still; but accounted for it, realising that the change from her morning mood demanded some explanation, by saying she was starving and tired out.

“I’m sure you must be! How you ever keep going I can’t imagine! I’d have been dead half way through,” Ruth said warmly.

“Oh, you don’t die as long as the music goes on! But when it stops, that’s the time you feel limp. I never did so much before, of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world; but it is a long morning!”

“It’s a strenuous life, isn’t it? May we sit with you?” the Writing Person came up, carrying two plates of fruit and custard. “Did you ever hear such a row? I’d say it’s like the parrot house at the Zoo, only that’s so obvious.”

“Do sit here!” Ruth said eagerly; anything to cheer Mary up! - and she had smiled at sight of a friend.

“It’s like the roar of a Tube train in a tunnel; or perhaps the noise of the sea in a cave,” Mary suggested. “Are you eating only pudding today?”

“Two lots?” Biddy laughed.

“My Margaret’s queueing up for the first course. I’ve been ordered to go and sit down,” and the Writer collapsed exhausted in a seat. “What a life! Why do we all do it? Aren’t we crazy? It’s nice to be waited on! I had my coffee brought to me, too. She said she’d go into the scrum and fetch it out to me. I don’t believe she’s even tired.”

“I’m dead!” the tall girl said solemnly, and put down the meat plates tenderly. “What country are you doing?” to Biddy.

“Grade III - “Newcastle.” I say, how funny! You’ve got a silver ring just like hers!” said Biddy, unabashed by Mary’s horrified frown.

The Writing Person and the schoolgirl looked at one another, meaning in their eyes. Then Margaret pulled up the sleeve of her blouse and showed a silver bracelet, carved in curious designs and letters. “We have bracelets, too, both just alike! Funny, isn’t it?”

“Oh! Is it because of your Camp Fire? Is it real? I’ve read her books” - Biddy dropped her voice politely. “But I didn’t know it was true. Is she really your Guardian? Do tell me about it! What is your Indian name? Do you have a gown?”

Ruth addressed the Writer, who was hungrily busy with her dinner. “I’ve read one of your books out in South Africa. It was lent to me by a girl on a farm only a few miles away from us.”

“Then you must live near Odzi? I’ve cousins there, and they like to have new books.”

“Yes, I know them. They’ll be thrilled to hear I’ve met you.”

“I’m owing them letters. I always am,” the Writer said sadly. “I’m afraid my letters to Odzi are few and far between.”

Mary caught Ruth’s eye and laughed guiltily. “I’m just as bad,” she said.

“I’ll fetch your coffee, shall I?” the schoolgirl was not too “dead” to be helpful.

“It’s very nice to have a waiting maid!” her Guardian said pensively. “You’re making me very lazy!”

“You sit still!” Margaret’s tone was peremptory. “I’m going to be your page boy for this week!”

She and Biddy were already good friends, and presently wandered off together to hunt for the cloakrooms, to do their hair and “make themselves respectable,” as the schoolgirl said.

A friend hailed the Writer. “I say! How’s the new book going?”

“I don’t know! They never tell me! But they seem to want another one, so it can’t have done too badly.”

Mary and Ruth followed the younger girls, to make room at the table for other hungry students, who kept crowding in to demand food.

“We’ll go and have a wash. Joy says there’s lovely hot water downstairs. And then we’ll find a corner and rest,” said Mary. “There’s nothing now for an hour and a half.”

“Good thing, too! How you can do any more I can’t think!”

“Oh, I want to go back and get “Newcastle” right! I’m still hazy about those lines.”

“Why, you were right every time!”

“It must have been by accident, then. Or somebody must have put me in the right place. I don’t feel I understand it yet,” said Mary. “Now this is a real voyage of discovery! Where are those stairs? And which way do you turn at the bottom?”

“Mary, why do you care so much about Jen Robins going away?” Ruth asked insistently, as they revelled in the hot water and got rid of some of the dust.

Mary looked at her quickly. “Did you see? I’m sorry. I hope she didn’t. She’d think me such an awful idiot. I don’t quite know, Ruth. I’ll try to tell you tonight; not here! I want to think about it. We’ll miss her terribly, you know. We’ve been seeing her more than once a week, for over six months; always on her class nights, and often in between. She often comes in to see us for a few minutes. It will be queer not to have her running in, and not to have club nights to look forward to; and very horrid!”

“Yes, but that’s all the same for Biddy, and she isn’t as much cut up as you are!”

“No, there’s more behind. I’ll tell you as much as I can tonight, but not before Biddy. She doesn’t understand.”

And Ruth had to be content with that for the moment.

Chapter 7 - Going Shenzi

“The thing to do now,” said Joy Shirley, meeting Mary and Ruth in the passage on their quest for a quiet resting place, “is to go into Room A, bag a steamer chair, and have a cig! I’ve just learned that from a set of Yorkshire girls at our table. “I sa-ay! Coom oop into Room A-a-a, an’ have a cig”!” and she mimicked the broad accent. “Don’t you love the north country talk?” she asked of Ruth. “You hear it on every side here.”

“Do you smoke?” Ruth asked curiously, as they dragged down steamer chairs and lay luxuriously at full length, their feet on the wooden seats in front of them.

“I did once,” Joy explained. “I’ve given it up. I’ve a little aunt down in the country, who’s been more of a mother to me than anybody else. She didn’t know I smoked, but one day she said to me and Joan, “I hope I’ll never hear of either of you girls taking to smoking! I wouldn’t like to think of that at all.” I’ve never done it since that day. If she felt that way, it wasn’t worth it. I didn’t really care; I’d only begun because everybody else seemed to be doing it. I’d do more than that to please her.”

“But if everybody kept off things when they were new, just to please old fashioned people, we should never get anywhere!” Biddy argued. “Somebody must begin things sometime!”

Joy looked at her gravely. “Yes, that’s all right. If it were a thing that mattered, that I felt ought to be done, I should go ahead. But a little thing like smoking isn’t worth it. I suppose you smoke?” and she hailed the Writer and the schoolgirl. “Come and join our circle! We’re waiting for the Pixie.”

“I’ve never felt the slightest desire for it; and unless one is very keen, it must be a fearful waste of money,” the Writer remarked.

“Why aren’t you in our classes?” Joy demanded. “Where have you got to? You’ve been with Jen during term!”

“I’m doing Grade IV Country, II Morris.”

“Help! Why on earth - ? You’ve done all that years ago! What are you playing at?”

“We’re learning “Chelsea Reach” and “Grimstock”,” the Writing Person said seriously.

“But why are you wasting time like that?”

“She’s taking care of me,” said the schoolgirl. “I don’t know any of those advanced dances yet. She’s going to classes with me. We’re in one of the art rooms at the top,” she said to Biddy. “There are plaster casts on the walls, and the room’s so small that they’re right under our eyes all the time. There’s a hand; and a dead fish, that’s been staring at me all day! I shall always see that hand when I hear “Chelsea Reach”; and “Grimstock” will always bring back the fish, I know!”

“We’ve got the most topping class!” Joy was saying, in answer to a question from Mary. “It isn’t a class at all; it’s a perpetual country dance party! We haven’t a teacher, but just a very jolly hostess. She goes round asking those who are left out of sets if they want to dance; she asks what we’d like to do next. Today they wanted “Mr. Beveridge”, after seeing it at the demonstration; so she asked how many knew it. We didn’t; but most of them said they did. She looked surprised, but - “

“And doubtful!” added Jen, who had just come up and was standing beside Joy.

“Very doubtful! But she said, “We’ll see how it goes. We’ll see what the music suggests to you!” and let them start without any instructions. There was a fearful muddle in about half a second, and her eyes got rounder and more full of horror - “

“And amusement,” Jen amended.

“Till at last she exploded, “Stop, stop! I don’t like the things the music suggests to you one bit! It doesn’t suggest much, does it? Suppose we take it slowly once!” and then she taught it from the beginning. She’s quite a darling, and we’re going to have a tophole time!”

“An absolute dear!” Jen sat down and opened her leather case, and took out big bone needles and white wool and began to knit industriously.

“I’m happiest in swords this week,” said the Writer. “I’ve got the desire of my heart; the dance, and the teacher, and the accompanist, all at once. Did you ever hear of such gorgeous luck?”

“You know what you want, evidently,” Joy remarked. “Isn’t it rather dangerous to be so particular? How often in a century do you manage to get them all together?”

“Once in a lifetime. I don’t suppose it will ever happen again. We have had luck this time!”

“What’s the dance? And who’s the teacher? And - oh, the fiddle, I suppose! Lucky you!”

“The fiddle! Either of the rapper dances; I don’t mind which, but it must be rappers. As for teacher - need you ask?”

Joy laughed. “I’m just beginning rappers. I may get used to them someday. Jenny Wren, your industry is appalling! Why can’t you do nothing, like the rest of us?”

Biddy had been watching Jen’s flying fingers with fascinated eyes. “I never saw you do any work before! It does look funny!”

“You little pig!” Jen said indignantly. “Haven’t I knitted jumpers by the dozen?”

“Is it for - what do you call her? - Janetta?” Mary asked.

“Janetta’s had hers,” the godmother said with dignity. “Her vests and jackets were waiting for her. She’s supplied for all emergencies! This isn’t for anybody - yet. It’s my cigarette,” she explained calmly.

“Your - how much?”

“My cigarette. My something to steady my nerves after the morning’s excitement. If I did nothing, I should keep running after people to talk to them. I need something to keep me still.”

“There’ll be more to show for it than there would be of a cigarette,” Ruth said laughing.

“I shall have to find a folk dance baby to give it to, of course,” Jen added. If I make a vest during the Vacation School, it will have to be for a little folk dancer.”

“Where are you going to find it? Who is going to have a baby, just to oblige you?”

“I’ll find one somewhere,” Jen said cheerfully. “Don’t worry! - Here comes the Little One!”

“I’m so sorry! Some girls caught me and kept me talking. They were in my classes years ago; such dears! Now just half an hour!” and the Pixie dumped her case on the floor, took the chair Joy had kept for her, and put up her feet on another, in approved style. “Isn’t this nice! I’m going to darn my stockings; don’t you think it’s a good plan? But in half an hour I’ll have to run, and wash and dress myself, and be a little lady for the afternoon. I’ve got such a lovely class; Special Countries; just a nice little crowd. And in swords we’re doing the “Kirkby”. It is nice to see you all together like this! And how are the babies?” - anxiously.

Joy gave the latest bulletins. “Jenny Wren’s going down to see Janetta as soon as the School’s over. She hasn’t seen her goddaughter yet.”

“I only came back from Yorkshire yesterday,” Jen urged.

“Are they nice babies? Has Joan’s got hair like hers and yours? - oh, good!” Is that knitting for her?” the Pixie had drawn a gray silk stocking over her hand and was darning with lightning speed and infinitesimal stitches. “Look!” she said proudly. “You can see what years I’ve had them by the darns. That’s the way to make things last. Don’t they all look lazy, Jenny Wren? But they aren’t godmothers, are they?”

“That isn’t for Janetta,” Joy remarked. “Jen’s arranging for the Folk Dance Society to have a special baby to wear that vest, because it’s being made during the School week.”

The Pixie chuckled. “I hope some one will rise to the occasion. And are you all living with Jen?”

“Help, no! I wouldn’t have them!” Jen teased.

“We’re all at King’s,” Joy said eagerly. “We’re pretending we’re women students at college! We thought we’d like to try the hostel life. So we’ve each got a little bedroom, all on one corridor, each with a gas fire and a gas ring and a shilling-in-the-slot meter; and last night - “

“Shillings have quite a new meaning for me now!” Jen said solemnly. “My fire went out as I was changing for dinner last night, and I hadn’t a shilling, and Joy hadn’t, and Maidie hadn’t, and Ros hid her purse and laughed at me. So we raided her room and found it, and confiscated all her shillings and put them in a common fund, which I’m taking care of; and we rescued my fire. At bedtime hers gave out, and she had to come and beg for one of her own shillings; she had to ask on her bended knees, and wait ten minutes, before she got it, too. I had my revenge!”

“What fun you must have!” Biddy said wistfully, then turned eagerly to Rosamund. “Couldn’t I go home with you one day after classes, and see your cubies? Will you take me?”

“Rather! We’ll ask you to dinner!” Rosamund said joyfully.

Maidlin leaned forward, her cheeks red with excitement, and whispered energetically.

Rosamund’s eyes dilated. “Maidie, how gorgeous! Of course we will! I say, Biddums -!”

“Will you have tea with me one day, Pixie?” Jen was asking. “Just with me? I want to talk.”

“How exclusive!” Joy mocked. “And when don’t you want to talk? Tell us that!”

“You may come,” Jen conceded. “But not the children.”

“Not fit for their ears, evidently! Wouldn’t you think she was thirty five? And she’s going back to school next term!”

“It’s to discuss a problem in psychology, Pixie,” Jen said seriously, holding out the most tempting bait she knew.

“I’ll come! I’ll love it! Tomorrow? After the lecture?” Then, with a lightning change of subject, because she had seen that Jen was in earnest and did not mean to say more in public, the Pixie turned to Mary, subconsciously aware that all was not well with her and that her silence had more than shyness lying behind it. “How are you getting on? I liked your article in last week’s paper. I really did like it.”

“Oh!” Mary coloured scarlet. “I never thought you’d see it.”

“Jenny Wren sent it to me, for a Christmas card. She knew I’d be interested.

“That was like Jen,” Mary said in a low voice.

“You’ll never advertise yourself, so I’ve got to do it for you, Mary Dorothy,” Jen retorted briskly. “When your book comes out, I shall give away dozens.”

“May I come and sit beside you?” the Writing Person pleaded. “You’re a friend worth knowing!”

“What’s your new book going to be about?” the Pixie turned to her quickly.

“You,” the Writer retorted.

“The other day,” said the Pixie happily, not seeming at all upset by the prospect, “I said something at home, and the friend I live with said, “You ought to be in a book!” So I said haughtily, “I am in a book!” and stuck my nose in the air. She was very much impressed.”

“I don’t think I create things,” said the Writing Person. “I only combine them into new patterns; things I’ve seen and heard.”

From Chapter 10: 'The Kindness of Pixie'

“Jen’s rather a dear,” Ruth commented, and put the owl basin down tenderly. “Methinks I hear the kettle preparing to boil over! You dress slowly. You’ll be stiff when you move,” and she ran to the kitchen.

“Stiff!” groaned Mary, as she stepped out of bed and collapsed upon it suddenly. “Are my legs broken? I’ve never felt like this before!”

She hobbled into breakfast presently, with an exaggerated air of lameness. “I’m crippled for life! At least I was when I got up first. It’s going off a bit now. I’m beginning to think I won’t have to sit out quite everything this morning. The thought of ever dancing again seemed hopeless half an hour ago. Ruth, what a beautiful breakfast! You are good! It is nice to have things done for one!”

“I’m curious to see how Biddy slept, and how they managed to conceal her this morning, and what Joy and Jen said about it,” said Ruth. “Let’s be early in the hall, so that she’ll have time to tell us!”

“Oh, it was quite easy!” Biddy said airily. “I put on my gymmy and big coat, and my hat, and went down at breakfast time with the rest. Everybody was in tunics, and lots of them had their hats on; I looked like all the rest! I thought I could go into breakfast with the crowd; but on the stairs a girl who’s in our country dance class said to me, “I didn’t know you were staying here! I didn’t see you at dinner the first night. I thought you lived in London?” So I thought I’d better not risk any more inquiries. I dashed away from her, on the excuse of seeing if there were any letters for me; there weren’t, you won’t be surprised to hear! While they were all waiting for the gong, I slipped out at the big door and ran for my life, and had eggs and bacon in the tea shop by the station. I’ll get hold of that girl in class today and tell her what I was playing at; she’s a sport; she’ll keep quiet about it! It was fun last night! It’s a gorgeous place, but you don’t get much sleep,” and she gave an eager account of the evening to Mary and Ruth, and the schoolgirl, Margaret, who had come up to ask questions also.

“I’m on my own today.” The tall girl explained that her friend, the Writing Person, had a visitor with her for the day. “She’s the artist who illustrates her books; she’s going to watch the classes and sketch figures and positions.”

During the class they saw the artist girl pull out a notebook and make hurried drawings; and in an interval Biddy and Margaret begged to be shown the result.

“There isn’t much to see. It’s only notes,” the artist protested, but good naturedly allowed them to look.

Biddy gave a peal of laughter. “But they’ve no clothes on! How funny they look! Which am I? Do I look that way to you?”

“Oh, they’ll get their clothes on afterwards! These are only suggestions for figures.”

“That one’s doing capers. And those are circles. I can’t say I recognise any of us!”

The artist laughed and reclaimed her notebook. “You aren’t meant to.”

“All the same, I like your pictures when they’re finished,” Biddy said condescendingly.

“Thanks so much! That’s a load off my mind!”

Joy and Jen were reinforced today by another, a slim, black haired, bobbed girl, smaller than either of them, whom Jen greeted with a subdued shriek of delight and a cry of, “Husband! At last! I was so lonely and quiet yesterday that everybody said I was quite unlike myself!”

“Oh, nobody ever did! You were just the same as usual; and quite as noisy,” Rosamund said indignantly.

“It’s Jacky-boy, Jacqueline Wilmot,” Biddy explained to Ruth. “She and Jen say they’ve been married ever since they were at school together. Now they’ll be satisfied! Jack was away for Christmas and could only get home last night; she lives in London. So she had to miss the first day, poor thing!”

That day, and those that followed it, were much like the first. There were the same classes and the same teachers, but different dances; the morning singing was an endless joy to Ruth, and the short demonstration never failed to thrill her. There was the usual scramble for coffee and biscuits at eleven; the usual hearty meal in the uproarious clatter of the dining hall; the quiet chats in little groups during the rest interval.

Jen’s white vest grew steadily, in spite of the jeers of her companions, who asked every day if she had found a baby folk dancer to wear it yet.

The Writing Person and the artist friend sat apart from the rest that second day, and talked business, discussing the possible illustrations to a new book.

“I’d have to see that,” said the artist. “Couldn’t you dance it for me?”

“Well, not here! I’m not giving demonstrations in public! Perhaps in our room, later on, if there’s nobody about. Or we’ll catch Margaret. She’d do it better. I’m on the look out for the Pixie. I rather think she’s going to scold me.”

“Why? What have you been doing?”

“Something happened; a private matter; and I wrote and told her all about it, and how it made me feel. I think perhaps she’ll say I ought to have more Christian charity. She has such a big share herself. She can still say, and feel, that people are dears, no matter what they do. - I’m saying I rather expect you to scold me for my letter,” and she looked up at the Pixie, who had slipped quietly through the swing doors, in her little black tunic and yellow coat, and was standing beside them.

“No! Why should I?” the Pixie was decisive and unhesitating in her judgment.

“I thought you might say I ought to be more charitable.”

The Pixie’s eyes softened as she stood looking down at her, for she knew what had been going on in her mind during Christmas. “No! One must feel like that sometimes. I feel like it. People aren’t perfect; they’re bound to disappoint us. They’ve all got faults. But I say, thank Heaven for their faults! I’m looking for Mr. - oh, there he is! I’ll talk about that later! I loved your letter,” and she was off.

“It is not, as Joy Shirley says, the place for private talks with Pixies!” said the Writing Person. “She has friends everywhere. You can’t wonder! She’s always ready to sympathise. It was quite hard to get hold of her at the Summer School last August. Everybody used to go and sit on her bed in the afternoon, and pour out their hearts to her. I went once; it was a tiny room, with hardly space to move; but there were three big people in it, all sitting on the bed, and all telling her their troubles. She was curled up on the pillow, dressmaking hard, and listening and talking all the time. And it was always the same. She knows all about everybody, because every one goes to her for comfort and advice. And she always has it to give. I know, for I go, too. She’s one of the best!”

But though it was not easy for the Pixie to find time for private conversations during a Vacation School, Jen was one of those who was accorded the privilege. Perhaps it was the tempting bait of a “problem in psychology,” a thing she loved, that made the Pixie refuse all other friends that afternoon, and retreat with Joy and Jen, and a pot of tea for three, and a tray of buns and butter and a plate of cakes, to one end of a long table in the dining room. They turned their backs on the rest of the world, and plunged into the problem.

“Now, Jenny Wren, what’s the matter with you? I do like you in that brown frock! You mustn’t always wear blue, you know, even if you have pretty blue eyes! It matters a lot what colours you wear. Colours affect your thoughts. You’ll always think alike if you always wear blue.”

“Blue thoughts, I suppose?” Joy asked politely.

“My thoughts are anything but blue!” Jen said indignantly.

“Oh, but blue, for you, means your normal mood; happy and jolly and light hearted. It’s such a pretty blue you wear! Don’t you find you’re more thoughtful in brown? You think about it, and see if your colour doesn’t affect your mood, in spite of Joy.”

“She doesn’t want you always to be happy and jolly, evidently, Jenny Wren!” Joy mocked.

The Pixie’s eyes twinkled. “I want her to be everything, an all round person. I’m glad you’ve changed for the afternoon; I always do. It looks so much nicer!”

“Jenny Wren runs to length, not roundness!” Joy murmured, but was suppressed by the victim.

“It’s the influence of our country dance class,” Jen explained. “We have such a jolly time, and it’s so much like a party and so little of a class, with a very kind hostess instead of a teacher, that we felt too horribly undresses in tunics. Joy said she expected the M.C. to come and turn her out; so today we brought frocks along and changed after lunch.”

“And felt super respectable and more partyish than ever,” Joy added.

The Pixie knew who was teaching them, and nodded agreement. “She is a dear, isn’t she? I love her. I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

“Oh, we love every minute of it! We couldn’t miss country for anything. But we’re gossiping, Pixie, and we came to ask for help. Why is it that we always gossip when we’re with you?”

“I love gossip more than anything!” the Pixie confessed. “Well, what’s the trouble, Jenny Wren?”

“It’s Mary Dorothy,” Jen said swiftly. “You know my plans for next term? To live with Joy and go to school again? And you remember what you said to us last summer about Mary Dorothy; how we had rescued her from the inside life of stories she was living in, and how we had to hold her up till she was safely ashore and in no danger of going back? As if we’d thrown a rope and she’d caught it, and now we must hang on to her? And we said we would.”

“Yes, I know all that,” the Pixie said thoughtfully, her eyes eager and interested. “You’ve held on to her well, and she’s ever so much better, a different person. Look at the good work she’s doing! And the way she’s taught those children!”

“The trouble is, Jenny Wren thinks Mary Dorothy can’t live without her,” said Joy bluntly.

Jen flushed. “Pixie, it sounds awful, but if you’d seen her face when she heard I was going away! She looked as if I’d knocked her down. We haven’t been thinking about holding on to her and keeping her safe, but I feel now that we’ve been doing it - well, that I have! - by just seeing her all the time. I’ve seen her at club once a week all autumn, and quite often in between. I like going to the flat to see her and Biddy, and Mother doesn’t mind now; so I’ve often run round there in the evening. I wonder now if I ought to have done it. I feel as if she might have got to depend on seeing one of us, and - and if she doesn’t, for quite a long while, I’m not sure what will happen,” and Jen looked appealingly at her little friend. “You don’t think me a conceited idiot, do you? It’s nothing I’ve done, any more than Joy or any one else; it’s only that I’ve happened to be in town. She’s had more chances of seeing me. I’d never thought of it till I saw her look. She looked lost, as if the earth were falling away from her! Only for a moment, of course; then she hid it, and tried to pretend everything was all right, and we’ve not spoken of it again. Pixie, what do you think? Am I imagining it?”

“I should say not. I expect she has learned to depend on you,” the Pixie said gently. “Jenny Wren, Mary Dorothy loves you. Didn’t you know? You mean a lot to her. You stand for everything that’s new, and happy, and healthy, in her life. She feels she owes it all to you. I’ve heard her say so; she’s quite certain and quite frank about it.”

“But I haven’t done any more than Joy!” Jen protested.

“She feels nearly as much for Joy. I’ve talked to her, and I know. I made her come and see me at the shop, one day when she had an hour to spare; and I took her out to lunch and made her talk. She thinks the world of you both. Joy’s a sort of fairy tale princess, always doing kindnesses to people who need them, able to do anything she wants, and wanting to do the right sort of things, with the Abbey and the Hall, and her money and her music, all in the background. You can’t wonder if Mary sees you both through a kind of glamour. She has a terrific imagination, as we know. You two stirred it into healthy life; she’s using it rightly now, and learning to control it; but you can’t wonder if it has woven a web of romance about you two. She had never known any one like you. You took her by storm. She loves you both, though she’s far too shy to say so; and she looks up to you immensely. Mind you don’t disappoint her!”

“But what am I to do?” Jen demanded, looking deeply troubled. Joy’s face was distinctly incredulous. She thought highly of the Pixie’s judgment, but believed her to be exaggerating this time. “You make me feel as if I oughtn’t to go away! But she can’t depend on us for ever, Pixie!”

“No. You must go,” the Pixie said decisively. “She must learn to do without you. It’s like teaching a child to walk. She’ll never learn while you hold her hand. You must go away and leave her to get on without you. If she finds she can stand alone, all will be well, and she’ll be stronger than she’ll ever be while she has you to lean on.”

“Yes, but if she can’t?” Jen pleaded. “What if she went back, after all this time?”

“Then Joy will send for her into the country, and you’ll have to start again. But I don’t believe it will happen. I think she’s got her feet fairly on dry land and will never drown again.”

“Oh, but you always expect the best of everybody!”

“I’d rather do that than expect the worst! I’ll keep an eye on Mary Dorothy for you, Jenny Wren. I’ll see her sometimes, and I’ll know if she’s all right. She doesn’t know I know anything about it, of course, so I’ll have to be careful. I’ll tell you how she’s getting on.”

“Now Mary Dorothy’s provided for! If you take her up, all will be well!” Joy said dramatically.

Jen’s face lit up. “Oh, Pixie, will you? But have so many people to see after! I know you look after heaps of people!”

“But she isn’t happy unless she’s mothering somebody,” Joy argued. “You know, she used to darn socks for whole regiments in France, long ago, in the War, and wash their shirts, too, the dears! She likes a crowd!”

The Pixie’s eyes laughed at her. “Tell Mary Dorothy to come to my classes. I’ll make room for her. She mustn’t drop her dancing. Of course, I shan’t come up to Jen as a teacher, but I’ll do my best.”

“Now you’re laughing at me!” Jen said indignantly. “But I’ll forgive you, if you’ll take Mary Dorothy into your class. That will be topping for her! Then you do think I can go, Pixie? I’ve been wondering if I ought to give it up, and arrange to stop in town somehow. I don’t want to be a pig, and it does feel kind of brutal; as if I were letting her down!”

“Not a bit. You ought to go. It’s good for her. You’re only giving her the chance to stand alone,” the Pixie said briskly. “I believe she’ll rise to it, and show you she can get along without you. She’d have to do it sometime, you know. Having the pretty little cousin there will help; and I’ll keep an eye on her. You go off to school again and enjoy yourself, Jenny Wren! Don’t get too many bad marks, or set too bad an example to Ros and Maidie! What fun you’ll have! I wish I could be there, too! Now I’ve got to get home. Are you going to the lecture? I can’t stop for it tonight. I’ve got some sewing to do. See you tomorrow!” and she picked up her case and hurried away.

From Chapter 17: 'The Event of the Season'

“You will sit at the back, and be “audience” and tell us what people say, won’t you?” Biddy begged, as they entered the hall surrounded by two dozen excited small children. “Mary’s going to take charge in the dressing room and send out the right sets in their turns; you know the row kids make when they’re worked up! She’ll have her work cut out to keep them quiet. I’m going to look after the pianist, and yell “Siding!” if I see somebody forgetting; some one’s sure to lose her head! Mary says she couldn’t bear to watch; she’d be so fearfully nervous. But we want to know how it looks from the back, and if people seem pleased; and that’s where you come in!”

“I’ll go right to the back, and I’ll watch every single thing, including Mary’s tour of the platform, and I’ll tell you every word and every comment I hear,” Ruth promised.

Her sense of discomfort over Joy’s morris jig, forgotten in the excitement of meeting and travelling with the children, returned as she sat watching the show. After several country dances, some by all the children and some by the separate sets, Joy came out alone from her place beside Lady Marchwood on the platform. She wore a pretty blue dancing frock, with ribbons and touches of bronze embroidery which matched her flaming hair; and with big handkerchiefs in her hands, began to dance “Princess Royal.” She looked beautiful and she danced beautifully, and the tumult of applause at the end seemed to justify her, and sent her back, with heightened colour and gratified eyes, to dance “Jockie to the Fair.” The enjoyment of the audience was obvious, and so was Joy’s delight in their appreciation. Mary and Biddy were as much delighted as any and pressed eagerly for the encore; but Ruth’s unsatisfied feeling remained.

“Somehow that morris seems out of place! It’s a children’s display. The morris is so different! Showy isn’t quite the word; but - well, it’s so strange and wonderful; won’t it put the country dances rather into the shade? It draws all the attention to Joy and away from the children, too. That hardly seems the thing. And I shouldn’t think it was very good for Joy. They’re all congratulating her and raving about her dancing. She’ll think no end of herself after this,” and she knit her brows as she looked at the delighted crowd on the platform, all thanking Joy so warmly.

“Where’s Mary, I wonder?” and Ruth looked round anxiously for her cousin. “Oh, at her own job, keeping the kiddies quiet when they aren’t dancing! But she mustn’t stick in that corner all evening! Joy ought to haul her out. If she doesn’t, I shall. I know Mary; she’ll keep out of sight till the last possible moment. I wonder if I could get hold of her now?”

But Biddy was marshalling a line of children, and handing brilliant ribbons to the “men,” so Ruth waited, and watched the movements of the Ribbon Dance, and listened to the delighted comments of the crowd about her.

“Who’s the pretty red haired girl who danced alone?” asked a man behind. “Club leader, or something? I suppose she has taught the kiddies?”

“Oh, I expect so,” said his wife vaguely. “She has obviously organised the show. See, there’s Sir Andrew Marchwood talking to her now; he’s introducing her to those people who came with the chairman.”

“She’s a friend of Lady Marchwood’s. Look, she’s going to talk to her now,” said a girl. “Her dances were topping!”

“This won’t do!” Ruth said uneasily to herself. “I can’t butt in and tell them Joy’s done none of the work, but she seems to be getting all the credit for it! Mary is an idiot, keeping out of sight like this! She ought to be on the platform. People can’t even see her; half the time she’s outside with the children! - Biddy!” as Biddy collected the ribbons at the end of the dance.

But Joy, from the platform, was calling to Biddy. “Let us have a few more turns of that, please! Sir Andrew says it was over too soon,” and the audience broke into warmly approving applause.

Mary came forward from her corner, flushed with the effort and with the excitement and strain of the evening. “The children are getting tired, Joy. Do you think it’s wise? If they’re overtired, they’ll begin to forget.”

“Oh, a little more won’t hurt them!” Joy said easily. “Kiddies can always keep it up a little longer. Give them the ribbons again, Biddy!”

Mary shrank back, doubtful and disapproving, and the dance began again.

Ruth was staring indignantly from her place at the back. “Joy had Mary out of her corner at last, and yet she never dragged her up on to the platform! How long is she going to leave it? Mary will never go unless she’s made to. Has Joy forgotten all about her?”

“Who are these other girls?” the people behind were asking. “It looked as if that older one didn’t want the dance repeated.”

“Assistants, probably. They’re obviously looking after the children. That sets the pretty girl free to talk to the guests; a very wise arrangement. So many children would be sure to get noisy and excited - Miss Shirley, did you say? Ah, thanks!” to a neighbour who had volunteered the name. “Charming girl! Makes an excellent hostess!”

Ruth, as hot and breathless as the dancing children, slipped out of her seat as the dancers trooped away; she could not have sat still for another moment without giving vent to her indignation. But she was glad she had restrained herself. Who was going to believe, on the word of a stranger, that the whole credit for the show was due to the quiet person in the background? Joy, with her vivid blue frock and flaming red hair, was so much more noticeable!

“Biddy!” It was the ten minutes interval, and Mary and Biddy were serving much needed lemonade and biscuits to the children in the dressing room. “Biddy, has Mary been introduced to Lady Marchwood yet?”

Biddy laughed. “No, she’s trying to escape. You know what she is. Do you think it’s going well, Ruth? Are people pleased?”

“Tophole! They all love it. I’ll tell Mary; it will cheer her up/”

“What’s the matter?” Biddy had caught the troubled note in Ruth’s voice. “Isn’t everything all right? I thought it was all awfully jolly!”

“It’s simply ripping!” Ruth said hastily, and hurried away.

“What can be the matter with Joy?” she was saying to herself. “Can she have forgotten Mary? Forgotten her? She couldn’t, surely! But Mary ought to have been introduced to Lady Marchwood before the show began! The rest don’t matter; they’re only visitors. But the whole thing has been got up to please Lady Marchwood, and - and hang it all!” cried Ruth in her heart. “Mary’s done all the work! She’s been slaving for weeks! What is the matter with Joy?”

“Is it all right, Ruth?” Mary asked nervously; she, like Biddy, had only one thought - the success of the evening. “How does it look from the back? There’s been nothing very bad so far, has there?”

“Old thing, it’s going splendidly! You needn’t worry; they’ll enjoy anything now. The kids have risen to the occasion like little sports!” Ruth said encouragingly.

Mary’s face cleared. “Do you really think so? Has it been quite all right so far? I know Gwennie got lost in “Bonnets,” but it was only for a second.”

“Nobody noticed. It’s a beautiful show. The crowd simply loves it. But, I say, Mary!” Ruth hesitated, then came out with her trouble. “Why aren’t you on the platform with Joy? What is she thinking about?”

“Oh, I’m so glad I’m not!” Mary said thankfully. “She isn’t thinking about me, I’m glad to say! Don’t worry, Ruth; I’d far rather be here!”

“But those people out there think that she’s the boss, and you’re only her assistant! It isn’t fair.”

“I don’t care,” Mary said laughing. “I’d hate to be before the public any more than I am. All I want is that the children shall dance well and please everybody.”

“That’s happened already. But it’s not all I want! Joy’s excited, of course, and nervous, and expecting something to go wrong every second; but she ought to have introduced you, Mary! It’s rude!”

“She can’t think of everything; and I’d hate to be introduced,” Mary said lightly, and turned to speak to a tired small girl.

Joy appeared in the doorway. “Mary! Is Mary here? Where has she got to?”

“Oh, so she’s remembered at last! Better late than never!” Ruth said aloud.

Mary looked up, flushed and nervous; to go out and be presented to the visitors might be her duty, but it would be an ordeal and no pleasure, and she was very tired. “Here, Joy! Do you think it’s been all right so far?”

“Yes, jolly good! Everybody loves it. But I came to see if they could go on again almost at once? They aren’t getting done up, are they? The Countess has a long ride out into the country, and she doesn’t want to be late.”

“The Countess! Dear me! Which is the Countess? I didn’t know we were so highly honoured!” Biddy cried, half mocking, half in earnest.

“She’s quite fascinated. Thinks it’s so good for the children, and will make them so graceful! She’s the pretty one in yellow, talking to Sir Andrew. And they want me to do another jig; do you think Bampton “Lumps” would be best, or “Ladies’ Pleasure”?”

“Oh, “Ladies’ Pleasure”! They’ll be thrilled by the kick jumps, and yours are tophole, Joy!” cried Biddy.

“I should do “Lumps”,” Mary said hurriedly. “Kick jumps are all very well in a class, when you’re in a tunic, but it is a man’s dance, Joy! A girl looks beautiful doing Bampton.”

“Think of Madam! Yes, I believe you’re right, Mary Dorothy,” and Joy regretfully put aside the thought of showing off the more sensation movements. “I’ll do “Lumps,” then; and perhaps “None So Pretty,” if they want two. They won’t criticise my galleys!”

“I wouldn’t do one with galleys in it. They’re for men,” Mary ventured.

“My dear, they’re all for men!” Joy retorted crushingly. “Let’s start again! The kids have rested long enough, haven’t they?”

“They’re getting very tired,” said Mary. “You must excuse them if anything goes wrong.”

“Oh, nothing will! They’re jolly good. But if we find it’s getting late, you could cut out one or two dances, if they seem tired. I’ll say we’re ready, then.”

She whirled away, followed by the admiring eyes of the children, who had watched the morris jigs spellbound, and felt honoured and uplifted by the momentary nearness of the radiant figure.

“We won’t cut out anything, after all our work!” Biddy cried indignantly. “Joy can cut out her jigs, if it’s too long!”

“Yes, that would be only fair,” Mary said soberly. “The children be disappointed if we left anything out.”

“She has forgotten Mary!” Ruth said, under her breath. “Joy, how can you? There’s no excuse! The interval was late enough; but Mary and Biddy both ought to have been introduced, as the teachers of the children, whether they liked it or not. She’s forgotten all about them. I wouldn’t have believed it of her. - She’s off her head with excitement, of course; and having Sir Andrew here makes her worse. But how can she neglect Mary like this? - I wonder when she will remember? It hasn’t occurred to Biddy yet, but if she thinks of it she’ll feel bad. I shan’t say any more to put it into her head. But - oh, why doesn’t Joy think? It will be awful if - if - “

And she watched the new set of dances with heavy foreboding in her heart.

Tired though they were, the children danced well. The entertainment was well planned, with good contrast in the dances. When one set of six had danced “The Old Mole,” six more followed at once with “Upon a Summer’s Day,” and the effect of the quiet movements was heightened by the jollier ones that had gone before. “Goddesses” came next to “Rufty Tufty,” and “If All the World were Paper,” with its singing, surprised the audience and was much enjoyed. The longways dances for a number of children were scattered among those for smaller sets, and there was no sense of monotony at any moment. How Mary and Biddy had worked and worried over the programme to gain just this result, altering it time after time till they were satisfied with the sequence of the dances!

“Joy’s all over the place!” Ruth mused, as Joy, a vivid, beautiful figure, came flying to Biddy to know the meaning of a moment’s delay; and then again to demand a repetition of “Gathering Peascods” to please the Countess. “Of course, it is a great occasion to her! Any one can see that. And she’s very ornamental! But she is making the most of it. I do hope it won’t occur to Mary and Biddy to feel hurt! They’re shoved right into the background. But it’s what Mary wanted, and so far Biddy hasn’t seen anything wrong. She’s too busy to think. Perhaps if there’s a very nice vote of thanks at the end, they’ll never realise they’ve been slighted. I should feel fearfully bad; but they’re very loyal to Joy, and they aren’t thinking of themselves at all.”

She was standing near Biddy now; the comments of the crowd had been too irritating to her peace of mind, and she had refused to go back to her corner. “I shall say something strong and bad, if I do!” she had said to herself.

As the programme drew to a close, and all still went well, Mary began to enjoy herself at last, and her anxious face grew less set and strained. Biddy, with leisure to think as the burden of responsibility lightened, turned suddenly to Ruth.

“Ruth, I suppose somebody’s told all those swanks on the platform that Mary’s done all the work of this show?”

“Oh, of course,” Ruth said hastily. “Joy’s sure to have explained. She’ll say something to the rest of the crowd presently.”

“I jolly well hope she will! For it looks awfully much as if it were Joy’s show!” Biddy had awakened to the true position at last, and her jealousy for Mary’s credit, once aroused, grew with lightning speed.

“You go and tell them, if you think they don’t know,” Ruth said rashly, and would have given much to be able to recall the words the next moment.

“I’d love to. But Mary would never forgive me. I do hope people understand,” Biddy said gloomily. “It’s all very well for Mary to want to hide, and not be seen, and all that, but it seems to me she ought to have been on the platform some of the time, anyway!”

Ruth could say nothing to comfort her. She could only hope that the inevitable vote of thanks would put everything right in a few minutes.

Then the children danced “Sellenger’s Round,” and the show was over, and all had gone very well. Mary’s tension relaxed, and she sat down limply, with a sigh of relief, while the applause broke out again and again.

The chairman rose to make a few remarks. He thanked Miss Shirley, “who has provided this excellent entertainment for us”; he congratulated her on the success of the evening and spoke of the pleasure it had given him personally; he said a few words of appreciation of her own beautiful dancing; he hoped the children of the neighbourhood would soon be dancing as prettily as those they had just been watching.

Joy, smiling graciously, declined in laughing embarrassment to make a speech. Teased by those around her on the platform to “say just a few words,” she rose, flushed and prettier than ever, and acknowledged the thanks gracefully. Then she sat down, to be complimented again, this time on her “charming little speech.”

From close beside the platform, a hurt girlish voice rang out, clearly heard while the pianist hunted wildly for the music of the National Anthem. “Aren’t you going to say anything about Mary? She’s done all the work!”

“Biddy! Oh, how could you?” Mary groaned, and, white and shaking, caught Biddy’s arm and dragged her down into her seat.

Ruth caught her breath; she had grown cold with horror as Joy sat down. “Good for Biddy! But oh, how awful of her! Joy will never forgive her!”

Joy, crimson, was on her feet again. She was not in the least shy; her diffidence in speaking had been merely polite. “I ought, of course, to have explained that the children have been trained in their dances by Miss Devine. I thought that was understood. We are all much obliged to Miss Devine for the trouble she has taken.”

It was little enough, but so far as outsiders were concerned it covered up the awkward moment. There was more applause, and Mary, shrinking and distressed, anxious only to disappear with Biddy out of Joy’s sight, stood up in her place and bowed, then hastily turned to beg the pianist to play the chord. The audience rose also, and the incident was over.

Over? Mary turned to look for Ruth, her lips quivering in the inevitable reaction; Ruth, knowing her, had foreseen it and was hurrying to her side. Biddy had fled to the dressing room, white and angry.

As Ruth reached Mary, Joy passed them in the crowd, and paused. If Biddy was angry, Joy was furious; one glance at her face told that. She had, it seemed to her, been made to look ridiculous before her friends. She knew she had been wrong; if it had been put to her quietly she would have been the first to admit it and to say how sorry she was. But Biddy had made a fatal mistake, and had put herself, and of course Mary, outside the pale.

“You’d better keep your sister at home till she learns how to behave in public, Mary Devine!” Joy flung at Mary and Ruth in a low tone, and passed on to Lady Marchwood’s car.

Mary, quivering under the blow, yet drew herself up suddenly. “Biddy wasn’t all to blame. I think she had some excuse,” she said to Joy’s relentless back, with a brave attempt at dignity.

But Joy did not turn back.

“I’ll sit down for a minute, Ruth,” Mary said breathlessly. “Will you - will you ask Biddy to see to the children?”

“You’re overtired, old thing.” Ruth was watching her anxiously. “Would you like some water? You sit still, and I’ll fetch your coat and hat.”

“Where is the little girl who spoke up so pluckily?” a voice asked behind Ruth. “I think I have met her before.”

She turned quickly, and Mary looked up with startled eyes, to face Sir Andrew Marchwood.

“I want to thank her,” he said, with blunt ignoring of the delicacy of the position. “We had had no opportunity to thank this lady for all her work. It was, of course, the fault of the chairman, who failed miserably in his duty. I apologise for his carelessness, and wish to add my thanks to Miss Shirley’s. I should like to thank the little girl also for speaking up so bravely. It was not an easy thing for a child to do.”

Mary’s eyes met his. “It wasn’t a very polite thing to do,” she said. “I’m very sorry about it.” She had pulled herself together in a moment, with a plucky effort which did not escape him. His keen eyes, trained to notice every smallest detail, had seen she was white and shaking, and he understood, more fully than she realised.

“You must forgive her. She was thinking of you,” he said. “She is your sister? It was only natural, if a little unusual. I hope you will not scold her. Tell her I wished you to thank her for me. May I congratulate you again on the success of the evening and the splendid results of all your work? I know Miss Shirley would wish me to do so.”

Then he passed out of the hall, and Mary and Ruth looked at one another. “He understands. Oh, I hope he isn’t disappointed in Joy!” Mary whispered. “For he ought to think she’s perfect. And - and she did forget, Ruth, though he tried to cover it up. It wasn’t kind!”

“Old dear, I’ve been dying to get hold of her and shake her all evening!” Ruth said vigorously. “But you mustn’t be too cut up, Mary. It’s only that she was excited because he was here. She’d have remembered tomorrow, and come round to thank you.”

“Yes - oh, yes! I didn’t care. But she’ll never forgive us now,” Mary said hopelessly. “If only Biddy - oh, if only Biddy had been content to wait!”

“Yes, but Biddy had been boiling for some time for your sake; and at last she boiled over. Mary, old thing, can’t you forget it all till we get home? We must see to these children!”

Mary rose hastily. “Yes, we must. I’m an idiot. The bus will be waiting. I’ll go and help Biddy.”

From Chapter 21: 'Back to the Abbey'

“I know all about it,” the Pixie announced to Ruth. “I understand it now. I’ve been afraid it would happen sometime.”

“Did he tell you?” Ruth demanded. “Did he - oh, did he talk to you about Joy? But we didn’t even know you knew him!”

Entering the upstairs luncheon room off Oxford Street, with its cream washed walls, and brown wood settles, and brown and yellow Doulton china, she had been dismayed to find the Pixie in earnest talk with a man; then amazed, when he turned, to see that it was Sir Andrew Marchwood. He had said goodbye at once, however, and left them to their lunch; and the Pixie explained.

“I’ve known him for some time; I know his young brother, too, incidentally. Such a nice boy! He’s growing coffee in Kenya now; and Sir Andrew visits him when he goes off on his wild expeditions. He’s been telling me, he’s just going off again, as soon as he can get things arranged to leave his mother for some months.”

“But - going away? But what about Joy? Has she sent him away again?” Ruth forgot Mary in her intense interest in this new development.

“Joy hasn’t been consulted. She doesn’t know yet. Don’t tell her! That’s his business, you know. Come and sit over here! I like this corner.”

Ruth followed her. “Please tell me more!” she begged. “Have they quarrelled? If he told you, you can tell me, can’t you?”

“Sir Andrew ought to talk to your Mary,” the Pixie said grimly. “He won’t, of course. But I fancy they’re both feeling just the same. They’ve both been loving an imaginary Joy, and they’re both up against the same problem now: do they love the real Joy well enough? Mary has to get down to it and work it out at home; he’s going away till he feels sure of himself. Till now, it was Joy who wasn’t sure; now it’s the man. He’s a good man!” she spoke with definite emphasis. “I like him. Joy’s very fortunate. He’ll make something fine out of her yet. But he isn’t soft. He fell in love with her pretty face, and her pretty ways; he always says she seemed the spirit of spring in England come to life, when he saw her at that Hamlet Club party, in her green dance frock, a year ago. He thought she was all that was beautiful and good; he made a fancy picture of her, as Mary did; and he’s been in love with it for a year. I’ve heard only today how he found out last week that there was another Joy; that she could be quick tempered and forgetful and hasty, unjust to others in her own excitement. He saw through the whole of that little tragedy; he doesn’t miss much! And now - “

“Oh, I’m sorry; and Mary will be sorry!” Ruth cried. “It was the first thing she said: “I hope he didn’t understand. He ought to think Joy’s perfect.” But won’t he come back, Pixie? For I think Joy wants him all the time.”

“Of course she loves him, but she hasn’t found it out yet! If she should happen to think she has lost him, it may help her to find out what she really feels. Doesn’t Mary realise that Joy isn’t quite normal just now, and that’s the reason? She’s off her balance whenever he’s about. Tell Mary, if she hasn’t thought of that, for it’s certainly the case! I think he’ll come back. He’s a good man, and he loves Joy. But he’s got to realise that he’s going to marry a real girl, with real faults, and not a fancy picture. Who wants to live with fancy pictures, anyway? He’d be tired of his ideal Joy, always sweet and kind and gentle, in a month; the real one will always give him plenty to think about! I’d rather have her as she is. She’s just what she’s always been, though she has improved a lot in the last few years. But she’s impulsive and fiery and self centred; and from what Joan and Cicely say, she always has been.”

“But sometimes she’s seemed so kind and thoughtful!” Ruth remonstrated. “Mary’s great grief is not at all that Joy forgot her at the show; that’s a small thing to her; she doesn’t care about herself in that way, in the least. It’s Joy’s want of understanding that has hurt Mary. Joy thought that she had expected thanks, and evidently had no idea whatever of the joy Mary had felt in helping her,” and she told quickly of Mary’s letter, Joy’s reply, Mary’s postcard of remonstrance, and Joy’s final silence. “And then last night she had forgotten it all, and was as friendly as ever! That was almost the biggest blow, to Mary. It had all meant so much to her, and had evidently been nothing at all to Joy. I said what I could; but I was surprised, too. For sometimes Joy has seemed to understand.”

“Ah, but that’s Jenny Wren!” the Pixie said quickly. “You must remember that they talk everything over together, and Jen supplies the understanding and keeps Joy straight. I’ve seen them and heard them, and I know it’s so. Jen has the gift; Joy has not. In this instance, Joy hadn’t Jen to help her, or it would never have happened. Jen would never have let Joy send that letter! She’d have told her quite frankly that she was being an idiot, and she’d have made her see it, too. And I know something else. Poor Joy tries desperately hard, at times - when she isn’t excited and being haunted by a man and in love without knowing it! - for just this very thing, to understand. I tell you, she has struggled hard to understand her Maidlin. She’s continually marvelling at Jen, who knows intuitively how other people feel. Joy has never really grown up. How should she? She has had everything she wanted all her life. She’s exactly what you would expect, when you remember the happy sheltered time she has had, with every luxury and every gift you can think of. It isn’t fair to blame her because the one gift of understanding has been denied her; you can’t expect her to have everything! She tries very hard to do right and to be kind and to use her position well; and on the whole she does do very well indeed.”

“Oh, she does a lot for people, we know! Yes, I see what you mean,” Ruth said thoughtfully. “May I repeat all this to Mary?”

“I want you to. And remind her of this, too. It’s her own imagination, idealising Joy, turning her into a fairy princess, that has brought trouble now. Any one knowing the real girl would have said, “Oh, it’s only Joy! She’ll get over it in a day or two!” But to Mary it has been a tragedy; it was bound to be with her temperament. Remind her that her imagination, and her over sensitiveness, and her power to think and analyse feeling, are the tools with which she’s going to write books; good books! But she has to pay for them by times like these. She can do work which Joy could never touch; but only because she has the power and depth to suffer as Joy could never do. She has to pay for her temperament. Tell her that!”

“I’ll tell her it all,” Ruth said gratefully. “Is it wrong to idealise people like that?” she asked, after a pause. “I can see the danger of it, but is it wrong?”

“No! It’s right. We all do it. But the time comes when you lose the ideal, and then you find out whether you really love your friends or not. If you can’t stand the crash, when you find out that they have faults like other people, your love for them wasn’t worth much. If you really love them, it makes no difference. You go on just the same, and make allowances. You may even love them more, because you’ve discovered their weakness.”

“You do understand! And you do have jolly ideas!” Ruth said fervently.

“Now don’t you begin idealising me!” the Pixie said, very hurriedly, and laughed, and gave her attention to her lunch.

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Text © Ju Gosling aka ju90 2010