certain she had guessed what her first thoughts were.

"And now I will tell you why I don't like Sibyl," Fanny continued. "I
have nothing whatever to say against her. I have never heard of her
doing anything underhand or what we might call low-down or ill-bred. At
the same time, I do dislike Sibyl, just for the simple reason that she
is _not_ well-bred, and she never will be."

"Oh! oh, give her her chance--do!" said Olive.

"I am not going to interfere with her," remarked Fanny; "but she can
never be a friend of mine. There are some girls who like her very well.
There's Martha West, who is constantly with her."

"I am quite sure," said Margaret, "that there isn't a better girl in the
school than Martha, and I have serious thoughts of asking her to become
a Speciality." As she spoke she fixed her very dark eyes on Fanny's
face.

"Do ask her; I shall be delighted," remarked Fanny. "Only, whatever you
do, don't ask her friend, Sibyl Ray."

"I have no present intention of doing so. Fanny, I don't want to be
nasty; but you are quite right about Sibyl. No one can say a word
against her; and yet she just is not well-bred."

CHAPTER VIII

A NEW MEMBER

The picnic was a great success. The day was splendid. The sun shone in a
sky which was almost cloudless. The motor-cars were all in prime
condition. There were no accidents of any sort. The girls laughed and
chatted, and enjoyed life to the utmost; and the Vivian girls were
amongst the merriest in those large and varied groups.

The twins invariably followed in Betty's footsteps, and Betty possessed
that curious mixture of temperament which threw her into the depths of
anguish one moment and sent her spirits flying like a rocket skyward the
next. Betty's spirits were tending skyward on this happy day. She was
also making friends in the school, and was delighted to walk with
Margaret and Susie and Olive. Fanny did not trouble her at all; but
Martha West chatted with her for a whole long hour, and, as Martha knew
Scotland, a very strong link was immediately established between the
girls.

A thoroughly happy picnic--a perfect one--is usually lived through
without adventure. There are no _contretemps_, no unhappy moments, no
jealousies, no heart-burnings. These are the sort of picnics which come
to us very rarely in life, but they do come now and then. In one sense,
however, they are uninteresting, for they have no history--there is
little or nothing to say abo