asn't it funny of her to say that a garden was meant to be a
delight?" said Sylvia. "Oh Betty, don't you love her very much?"

"Don't ask me," said Betty, and her voice was a little choked.

"Betty," said Sylvia, "you seem to get paler and paler. I am sure you
miss Aberdeenshire."

"Miss it!" said Betty; "miss it! Need you ask?"

This was the one peep that her sisters were permitted to get into Betty
Vivian's heart before the meeting of the Specialities that evening.

Olive Repton was quite excited preparing for her guests. School had
become much more interesting to her since Betty's arrival. Martha was
also a sort of rock of comfort to lean upon. Margaret, of course, was
always charming. Margaret Grant was Margaret Grant, and there never
could be her second; but the two additional members gave undoubted
satisfaction to the others--that is, with the exception of Fanny
Crawford, who had, however, been most careful not to say one word
against Betty since she became a Speciality.

Olive's room was not very far from the Vivians', and as Betty on this
special night was hurrying towards the appointed meeting-place she came
across Fanny. Between Fanny and herself not a word had been exchanged
for several days.

Fanny stopped her now. "Are you ill, Betty?" she said.

Betty shook her head.

"I wish to tell you," said Fanny, "that, after very carefully
considering everything, I have made up my mind that it is not my place
to interfere with you. If your conscience allows you to keep silent I
shall not speak. That is all."

"Thank you, Fanny," replied Betty. She stood aside and motioned to Fanny
to pass her. Fanny felt, for some unaccountable reason, strangely
uncomfortable. The cloud which had been hanging over Betty seemed to
visit Fanny's heart also. For the first time since her cousin's arrival
she almost pitied her.

Olive's room was very bright. She had a good deal of individual taste,
and as the gardeners were always allowed to supply the Specialities with
flowers for their weekly meetings and their special entertainments,
Olive had her room quite gaily decorated. Smilax hung in graceful
festoons from several vases and trailed in a cunning pattern round the
little supper-table; cyclamen, in pots, further added to the
decorations; and there were still some very beautiful white
chrysanthemums left in the green-house, a careful selection of which had
been made by Birchall that day for the young ladies' festivities.