'Twixt home and The Gables, Lorraine found her life that autumn a very busy one. As head girl, the demands made on her time were considerable. She sometimes thought it would have been easier to be at a boarding school, where her whole energies could have been focused upon school matters; private interests, though very enthralling1, were certainly a hindrance2. And there were so many of them—her painting lessons and delightful3 intimacy4 with Margaret Lindsay, and the rich art world that had thereby5 opened its doors to her; an increasing friendship with Morland Castleton, whose musical genius spurred her on to fresh efforts at her violin; her affection for Claudia and for the rest of the merry crew of the Castleton family; to say nothing of the dear home people who claimed her attention: Richard and Donald fighting in France, Rodney making his first flights in the Air Force, Rosemary hard at work in the college of music, and writing ecstatic weekly budgets of her experiences, Mervyn with his fun and nonsense and gossip from the Grammar [129]School, and Monica, who was the spoilt darling of the family.
Whatever her faults, Lorraine possessed6 to the full that intense zest7 of life that the French call "using up one's heart". It is a gift that—thank God!—the war has given to most of our British girlhood. The old, fashionable attitude of boredom8, that at one time spread like a blight9 over certain classes of society, is happily passing away, purged10 by the common need of sacrifice. It is incredible that at one time girls could exist in this world, possessed of eyes and ears, and pass by the touching11, dramatic, joyous12 human comedy as though they were blind and deaf. All the things we learn at school are of no value to us unless with them we learn to love life—life in all its aspects of joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, work and pleasure.
There was so much going on at The Gables, both in lessons and games. The hockey season had begun, and every Wednesday afternoon the school played in a field on the cliffs which they rented; under the coaching of Miss Paget, a new mistress, the teams were improving. Dorothy as captain made a much better leader than Helen Stanley had done a year ago, and Patsie and Vivien as half-backs were considered rising stars. The second team, which hitherto had been rather contemptible13, raised its standard to an amazing extent, and seemed to promise great things. The girls began to look forward to Wednesdays.
One bright sunny afternoon in early November they were assembled on the field. In their navy [130]serge skirts and scarlet14 jerseys15 they made a bright patch of colour against the green of the grass and the autumn blue of the sky and the grey-blue expanse of sea that spread beneath the yellow cliffs. It was a pretty scene, with a background of late-flowering gorse bushes and a foreground of corn marigold that edged the field. The sunshine fell on the athletic16 figures and hatless heads of the teams. A very pretty scene indeed, and so evidently thought a dark-faced, clean-shaven individual who was dodging17 about the gate, busy with a camera. He fixed18 a stand, put his head repeatedly under a black velvet19 cloth, and was apparently20 focusing upon the groups of players. The girls noticed him, and pointed21 him out to Miss Paget. The dragon in her was at once roused to wrath22, and she advanced in defence of her flock.
"May I ask on what authority you're taking photographs of this school?" she asked icily.
The stranger was all smiles and civility. He displayed an excellent set of teeth as, with a decidedly foreign bow and flourish of his hat, he offered a plausible24 explanation.
"I ask your pardon, Madam! I am an American—a journalist. I have been sent by my newspaper to England to write an article upon Girls' Schools. I have heard of yours, and wish to include it in my report, with a photo of its pupils. I crave25 your permission to take a snapshot of the game."
Miss Paget stared at him with suspicion. She was a good judge of character, and had studied types of nationality; moreover, she had herself [131]spent six months in the United States. The man's physiognomy and accent were anything but American. She would set them down as decidedly Teutonic.
"Certainly not!" she replied. "Miss Kingsley would not dream of permitting it."
"But I have permission from Miss Kingsley!" he fawned26. "I am to send her photos."
"Miss Kingsley did not mention the matter to me, and unless I have her express directions I cannot allow it. Will you kindly27 remove your camera?"
"Just one little snapshot!" he begged insinuatingly28.
"You've interrupted our game. Will you please go? And I must remind you that this is a military area, and that, unless you have a signed permit for photography, you are liable to be arrested."
"Oh, that is all right! I have the credentials29 of my newspaper, as well as the assent30 of Miss Kingsley."
Miss Paget's temper, which had been rapidly rising, now fizzed over.
"If you don't take yourself off, I'll send some of my pupils to fetch the coast-guard!" she thundered.
With an apologetic shrug31 of the shoulders the interloper packed up his camera and departed, not without trying to secure a hurried surreptitious snapshot with a small kodak, an effort which was nipped in the bud by Miss Paget, who stood like [132]a sentry32 at the gate, speeding his departure. She watched him till he was safely out of sight and then joined the excited girls, some of whom had overheard the conversation.
"That's no American!" she proclaimed. "And I don't for a moment believe that he had permission from Miss Kingsley to photograph the school."
"She'd have said so, surely," commented Vivien.
"Probably he didn't even know her name till you mentioned it, Miss Paget," said Lorraine.
"He's a foreigner in my opinion—possibly a spy," continued the mistress. "This field would make a most excellent landing-place for enemy aircraft. One can't be too careful in these matters—living as we do near the coast, in a military zone. The cheek of the man, too! Calmly to set up his camera and begin to take us without asking leave! Even in times of peace it would be unpardonable. I must say I have the very strongest suspicions of his intentions."
"It seems rather the wrong time for an American magazine to be wanting an article on English Girls' Schools," said Patsie.
"It's the most flimsy excuse."
The affair made quite a sensation in the school. Miss Kingsley, when the matter was reported to her, disclaimed33 all knowledge of the photographer or any commission to him to take the hockey teams. She was justly indignant, and almost thought of mentioning the incident to the police. The girls talked the affair threadbare. They were quite sure they had had an encounter [133]with a spy. Their suspicions were further justified34 in the course of a few days by an experience of Lorraine's.
She was going by train on Saturday morning to Ranock, a little place a few miles from Porthkeverne, whither her mother had sent her to return some books to a friend who lived near the station. There were several other people in the compartment35; and sitting in the corner on the side next to the sea was a man whom Lorraine was nearly sure she recognized as the pertinacious36 stranger of the hockey field. She watched him now keenly. He was gazing out of the window at the sand-hills and stretches of marshy37 shore. Presently they passed the golf links, and, quick as thought, he whisked a little kodak from his pocket and began to take instantaneous photographs through the carriage window. Lorraine uttered an exclamation38 and nudged the gentleman who sat next to her. Promptly39 he interfered40.
"Look here! Snapshots aren't allowed without a permit," he <............