6 half-an-hour in the sun

“when’s dear gwendoline mary coming back?” asked alicia, as they all lay out in the sun after their dinner at a quarter to two that day. it was so warm and sunny that it was like summer. all the girls had found warm places out of doors, and the grounds were full of little companies of girls happily sunning themselves.

“gwen? oh, she’s arriving at tea-time,” said darrell. “dear gwendoline mary! would you think she’s what catherine would call a ‘pet-lamb’?”

“i could think of much more suitable names than that,” said belinda, busy drawing mavis, who had gone to sleep with her mouth open.

“is gwendoline nice?” asked maureen. “she sounds nice, to me.”

darrell winked at alicia.

“nice? oh, you’ll love her!” she said. “so sympathetic and ready to listen! so interesting to talk to—and the tales she tells about her family and her dogs and her cats—well, you could listen for hours, maureen.”

“is she fond of sports?” asked maureen, who quite definitely wasn’t. “at mazeley manor we didn’t do games unless we wanted to. i mean—they weren’t compulsory, as they are here—such a mistake, i think.”

“oh, gwen hates games,” said alicia. “but because she’s fat she has to do them as much as possible and walk miles, too.”

“poor gwendoline!” said maureen, sympathizing deeply with the absent fifth-former. “we shall have a lot in common, i can see. has she—has she a special friend, do you know? of course—that’s a silly question i know—a girl like that’s bound to have a special friend. but i just thought—you know, i’m rather one on my own—it would be so nice to find someone here who wasn’t already fixed up with a companion for walks—and talks.”

“let me see,” said alicia, blinking up at the sky. “has gwendoline mary a friend?”

everyone appeared to think very deeply.

“well—perhaps not a special friend,” said irene, with a small snort of laughter. “let us say she’s a little-friend-of-all-the-world, shall we?”

“ah—you’ve just hit the nail on the head,” said darrell, trying not to giggle. “i think she’d like maureen, don’t you?”

“she’ll love her,” said belinda, with the utmost conviction. “wake up, mavis, and see how beautiful you look when you’re asleep.”

“beast!” said mavis, taking a look at belinda’s comical sketch of her lying asleep with her mouth open. maureen took a look as well.

“that’s quite a clever drawing,” she said. “i can draw, too. i was one of the best at mazeley manor. i must show you my sketches sometime, belinda. they’re very much the same style as yours.”

belinda was about to say something short and rude when irene frowned at her, and then spoke in a sickly-sweet tone to the unsuspecting maureen.

“i suppose you can sing, too, can’t you—and can you compose?”

“oh, i can sing,” said maureen, pleased with all this attention. “yes, i had special lessons at mazeley manor. the singing-master said i had a most unusual voice. and i’ve composed quite a few songs. dear, dear—you mustn’t make me talk about myself like this!”

she gave her silly little laugh. everyone else wanted to laugh, too. how could anyone be so idiotic?

“were there many girls at your last school?” asked sally, wondering how in the world any school could turn out somebody like maureen.

“oh no—it was a very very select school,” said maureen. “they picked and chose their girls very very carefully.”

“you’ll have to tell gwen all these things,” said alicia, earnestly. “won’t she, girls? gwen will be so interested. and don’t you think it would be nice for dear gwendoline to have someone like maureen for a friend? i mean—i feel she’s made of, er—finer stuff than we are—and i’m sure gwendoline mary would appreciate that.”

maureen could hardly believe that all these wonder-full remarks applied to her. she gazed round half-suspiciously, but the girls all looked at her with straight faces. irene had to look away. she felt certain one of her terrific snorts was coming.

“gwen’s always lonely when she comes back,” went on alicia. “then’s the time to talk to her, maureen. we’ll tell her about you, and you can make friends.”

“thank you very much,” said maureen, basking in what she thought was universal appreciation of herself. “i really hardly think the girls at mazeley manor could be nicer than you!”

irene snorted loudly and somehow turned it into a cough and a sneeze.

maureen looked a little suspicious again, but at that moment mam’zelle dupont descended on them, smiling. she sat down on the grass, first looking for ants, earwigs and beetles. she was terrified of them. she beamed round amicably. the girls smiled back. they liked the plump, hot-tempered, humorous french mistress. she was not like mam’zelle rougier, bad-tempered all the time—if she got into a temper, she blew up, certainly—but it didn’t last long.

“ah—you are all basketing in the sun,” she said, much to the surprise of everyone.

“oh—you mean basking, don’t you, mam’zelle?” said darrell, with a squeal of laughter.

“yes, yes—this lovely sun!” said mam’zelle, and she wriggled her plump shoulders in enjoyment. in a moment or two, however, she would feel afraid of getting a freckle, and would retire into the shade!

“and you, ma petite maureen—you are settling down here nicely, are you not?” asked mam’zelle, kindly, seeing maureen next to her. “of course, you will be missing your old school—what name is it, now—ah, yes—your measley manor, is it not?”

a shout of laughter deafened her.

“oh, mam’zelle—you’re priceless!” almost wept belinda. “you always hit the nail on the head!”

“the nail? what nail?” asked mam’zelle, looking all round as if she expected to see a nail suspended in the air somewhere. “i have hit nothing. do not tease me now. it is too hot!”

she turned to maureen again. “they interrupt their kind old mam’zelle,” she said, smiling down at the fluffy-haired maureen. “i was asking you about your lovely measley manor.”

this time it was too much. maureen’s look of offended disgust with mam’zelle and with the laughing girls made them roll on the grass in an agony of mirth. mam’zelle was astonished. what had she said that was so funny?

“all i ask is about this lovely . . .” she began again, in bewilderment. nobody stopped laughing. maureen got up and walked off in a huff. how hateful to laugh at such a horrid name for her old school—and did mam’zelle really mean to call it that? was she poking fun at her, too? maureen seriously began to doubt if all the nice things said to her were meant.

“oh dear,” said darrell, sitting up and wiping the tears from her eyes. “you’re a pet, mam’zelle! girls, in future, we refer to measley manor as soon as maureen trots out her horrible soppy school again. we’ll soon cure her of that.”

“i wish gwen would hurry up and come,” said sally. “i’m longing to see those two together. maureen’s so like gwen in her ways—it’ll be like gwen looking into a mirror and seeing herself, when she knows maureen!”

“now, now—play no treeks on maureen,” said mam’zelle. she meant tricks, of course. “poof! it is hot. i shall grow a freckle on my nose. i feel it! i must sit in the shade. poof!”

“we’re going to have a nice term, mam’zelle,” said darrell. “games, plenty of them—and we fifth-formers are doing the christmas entertainment! we shan’t have much time for french, i’m afraid.”

“méchante fille,” said mam’zelle at once, fanning violently and making herself much hotter. “bad girl, darrell. you will have plenty of time for french. and no treeks. no treeks this term. there will be no time for treeks.”

“why don’t you play a treek, mam’zelle?” asked alicia, lazily. “we give you full permission to work as hard as you like at playing a treek on us.”

“oh yes—as many tricks as you like!” said sally, joyfully.

“but we’ll see through them all,” said mavis.

“ah—if i played you a treek it would be superbe!” said mam’zelle,’ pronouncing it the french way, “superbe! magnifique! merveilleuse! such a treek you would never have seen before.”

“we dare you to, mam’zelle,” said alicia at once.

“me, i am not daring,” said mam’zelle. “i think of a treek perhaps, yes—but i could not do it. hèlas! i have not your dare.”

the bell rang for afternoon school. everyone got up. alicia hauled mam’zelle to her feet so strongly that she almost fell over again. “you have too much dare,” she told alicia, crossly. “always you have much dare, alicia!”