Meanwhile Sylvia was thoroughly¹ enjoying herself. She started for the Castle in the highest spirits. Her walk during the morning hours had not fatigued² her; and when, soon after twelve o’clock, she walked slowly and thoughtfully up the avenue, a happier, prettier girl could scarcely be seen. The good food she had enjoyed since Jasper had appeared on the scene had already begun to tell. Her cheeks were plump, her eyes bright; her somewhat pale complexion³ was creamy in tint⁴ and thoroughly healthy. Her dress, too, effected wonders. Sylvia would look well in a cotton frock; she would look well as a milkmaid, as a cottage girl; but she also had that indescribable grace which would enable her to fill a loftier station. And now, in her rich furs and dark-brown costume, she looked fit to move in any society. She held Evelyn’s letter in her hand. Her one fear was that Evelyn would remark on her own costume transmogrified for Sylvia’s benefit.  
“Well, if she does, I don’t much care,” thought the happy girl. “After all, truth is best. Why should I deceive? I deceived when I was here last, when I wore Audrey’s dress. I had not the 243 courage then that I have now. Somehow to-day I feel happy and not afraid of anything.”
 
She was met, just before she reached the front entrance, by Audrey and Evelyn.
 
“Here, Evelyn,” she cried—“here is a note for you.”
 
Evelyn took it quickly. She did not want Audrey to know that Jasper was living at The Priory. She turned aside and read her note, and Audrey devoted⁵ herself to Sylvia. Audrey had liked Sylvia before; she liked her better than ever now. She was far too polite to glance at her improved dress; that somehow seemed to tell her that happier circumstances had dawned for Sylvia, and a sense of rejoicing visited her.
 
“I am so very glad you have come!” she said. “Evelyn and I have been planning how we are to spend the day. We want to give you, and ourselves also, a right good time. Do you know that Evelyn and I are schoolgirls now? Is it not strange? Dear Miss Sinclair has left us. We miss her terribly; but I think we shall like school-life—eh, Eve?”
 
Evelyn had finished Jasper’s letter, and had thrust it into her pocket.
 
“I hate school-life!” she said emphatically.
 
“Oh Eve! but why?” asked Audrey. “I thought you were making a great many friends at school.”
 
“Wherever I go I shall make friends,” replied Evelyn in a careless tone. “That, of course, is due to my position. But I do not know, after all,” 244 she continued, “that I like fair-weather friends. Mothery used to tell me that I must be careful when with them. She said they would, one and all, expect me to do something for them. Now, I hate people who want you to do things for them. For my part, I shall soon let my so-called friends know that I am not that sort of girl.”
 
“Let us walk about now,” said Audrey. “It will be lunch-time before long; afterwards I thought we might go for a ride. Can you ride, Sylvia?”
 
“I used to ride once,” she answered, coloring high with pleasure.
 
“I can lend you a habit; and we have a very nice horse—quite quiet, and at the same time spirited.”
 
“I am not afraid of any horses,” answered the girl. “I should like a ride immensely.”
 
“We will have lunch, then a ride, then a good cozy⁶ chat together by the schoolroom fire, then dinner; and then, what do you say to a dance? We have asked some young friends to come to the Castle to-night for the purpose.”
 
“I must not be too late in going home,” said Sylvia. “And,” she added, “I have not brought a dress for the evening.”
 
“Oh, we must manage that,” said Audrey. “What a good thing that you and I are the same height! Now, shall we walk round the shrubbery?”
 
“The shrubbery always reminds me,” said Sylvia, “of the first day we met.”
 
“Yes. I was very angry with you that day,” said Audrey, with a laugh. “You must know that 245 I always hated that old custom of throwing the Castle open to every one on New Year’s Day.”
 
“But I am too glad of it,” said Sylvia. “It made me know you, and Evelyn too.”
 
“Don’t forget, Audrey,” said Evelyn at that moment, “that Sylvia is really my friend. It was I who first brought her to the Castle.—You do not forget that, do you, Sylvia?”
 
“No,” said Sylvia, smiling. “And I like you both awfully⁷. But do tell me about your school—do, please.”
 
“Well,” said Audrey, “there is a rather exciting thing to tell—something unpleasant, too. Perhaps you ought not to know.”
 
“Please—please tell me. I am quite dying to hear about it.”
 
Audrey then described the mysterious damage done to Sesame and Lilies.
 
“Miss Henderson was told,” she said, “and yesterday morning she spoke⁸ to the entire school. She is going to punish the person who did it very severely⁹ if she can find her; and if that person does not confess, I believe the whole school is to be put more or less into Coventry.”
 
“But how does she know that any of the girls did it?” was Sylvia’s answer. “There are servants in the house. Has she questioned them?”
 
“She has; but it so happens that the servants are quite placed above suspicion, for the book was whole at a certain hour the very first day we came to school, and that evening it was found in its 246 mutilated condition. During all those hours it happened to be in the Fourth Form schoolroom.”
 
“Yes,” said Evelyn in a careless tone. “It is quite horrid¹⁰ for me, you know, for I am a Fourth Form girl. I ought not to be. I ought to be in the Sixth Form with Audrey. But there! those unpleasant mistresses have no penetration¹¹.”
 
“But why should you wish to be in a higher form than your acquirements warrant?” replied Sylvia. “Oh,” she added, with enthusiasm, “don’t I envy you both your luck! Should I not love to be at school in order to work hard!”
 
“By the way, Sylvia,” said Audrey suddenly, “how have you been educated?”
 
“Why, anyhow,” said the girl. “I have taught myself mostly. But please do not ask me any questions. I don’t want to think of my own life at all to-day; I am so very happy at being with you two.”
 
Audrey immediately turned the conversation; but soon, by a sort of instinct, it crept back again to the curious occurrence which had taken place at Miss Henderson’s school.
 
“Please do not speak of it at lunch,” said Audrey, “for we have not told mother or father anything about it. We hope that this disgraceful thing will not be made public, but that the culprit will confess.”
 
“Much chance of that!” said Evelyn; and she nudged Sylvia’s arm, on which she happened to be leaning. 247
The girls presently went into the house. Lunch followed. Lady Frances was extremely kind to Sylvia—in fact, she made a pet of her. She looked with admiration¹² at the pretty and suitable costume, and wondered in her own heart what she could do for the little girl.
 
“I like her,” she said to herself. “She suits me better than any girl I have ever met except my own dear Audrey. Oh, how I wish she were the heiress instead of Evelyn!”
 
Evelyn was fairly well behaved; she had learnt to suppress herself. She was now outwardly dutiful to Lady Frances, and was, without any seeming in the matter, affectionate to her uncle. The Squire¹³ was always specially¹⁴ kind to Evelyn; but he liked young girls, and took notice of Sylvia also, trying to draw her out. He spoke to her about her father. He told her that he had once known a distinguished<............