Emily set her teeth as she crept into bed.
"I shall just have to fix my thoughts on the moonlight and romance and ignore the mosquitoes," she thought. "Only... Aunt Ruth DOES sting so."
CHAPTER 7. POT-POURRI
"September 20, 19...
"I have been neglecting my diary of late. One does not have a great deal of spare time at Aunt Ruth's. But it is Friday night and I couldn't go home for the week-end so I come to my diary for comforting. I can spend only alternate week-ends at New Moon. Aunt Ruth wants me every other Saturday to help 'houseclean.' We go over this house from top to bottom whether it needs it or not, as the tramp said when he washed his face every month, and then rest from our labours for Sunday.
"There is a hint of frost in the air to-night. I am afraid the garden at New Moon will suffer. Aunt Elizabeth will begin to think it is time to give up the cookhouse for the season and move the Waterloo back into the kitchen. Cousin Jimmy will be boiling the pigs' potatoes in the old orchard and reciting his poetry. Likely Teddy and Ilse and Perry... who have all gone home, lucky creatures... will be there and Daff will be prowling about. But I must not think of it. That way homesickness lies.
"I am beginning to like Shrewsbury and Shrewsbury school and Shrewsbury teachers... though Dean was right when he said I would not find anyone here like Mr. Carpenter. The Seniors and Juniors look down on the Preps and are very condescending. Some of them condescended to ME, but I do not think they will try it again... except Evelyn Blake, who condescends every time we meet, as we do quite often, because her chum, Mary Carswell, rooms with Ilse at Mrs. Adamson's boarding-house.
"I hate Evelyn Blake. There is no doubt at all about that. And there is as little doubt that she hates me. We are instinctive enemies... we looked at each other the first time we met like two strange cats, and that was enough. I never really hated any one before. I thought I did but now I know it was only dislike. Hate is rather interesting for a change. Evelyn is a Junior... tall, clever, rather handsome. Has long, bright, TREACHEROUS brown eyes and talks through her nose. She has LITERARY AMBITIONS, I understand, and considers herself the best dressed girl in High School. Perhaps she is; but somehow her clothes seem to make more impression on you than SHE does. People criticize Ilse for dressing too richly and too OLD but SHE DOMINATES her clothes for all that. Evelyn doesn't. You always think of her clothes before you think of her. The difference seems to be that Evelyn dresses for other people and Ilse dresses for herself. I must write a character sketch of her when I have studied her a little more. What a satisfaction that will be!
"I met her first in Ilse's room and Mary Carswell introduced us. Evelyn looked down at me... she is a little taller, being a year older... and said,
"'Oh, yes, Miss Starr? I've heard my aunt, Mrs. Henry Blake, talking about you.'
"Mrs. Henry Blake was once Miss Brownell. I looked straight into Evelyn's eyes and said,
"'No doubt Mrs. Henry Blake painted a very flattering picture of me.'
"Evelyn laughed... with a kind of laugh I don't like. It gives you the feeling that she is laughing at YOU, not at what you've said.
"'You didn't get on very well with her, did you? I understand you are quite literary. What papers do you write for?'
"She asked the question sweetly but she knew perfectly well that I don't write for any... yet.
"'The Charlottetown Enterprise and the Shrewsbury Weekly Times,' I said with a wicked grin. 'I've just made a bargain with them. I'm to get two cents for every news item I send the Enterprise and twenty-five cents a week for a society letter for the Times.'
"My grin worried Evelyn. Preps aren't supposed to grin like that at Juniors. It isn't done.
"'Oh, yes, I understand you are working for your board,' she said. 'I suppose every little helps. But I meant real literary periodicals.'
"'The Quill?' I asked with another grin.
"The Quill is the High School paper, appearing monthly. It is edited by the members of the Skull and Owl, a 'literary society' to which only Juniors and Seniors are eligible. The contents of The Quill are written by the students and in theory any student can contribute but in practice hardly anything is ever accepted from a Prep. Evelyn is a Skull and Owlite and her cousin is editor of The Quill. She evidently thought I was waxing sarcastic at her expense and ignored me for the rest of her call, except for one dear little jab when dress came up for discussion.
"'I want one of the new ties,' she said. 'There are some sweet ones at Jones and McCallum's and they are awfully smart. The little black velvet ribbon you are wearing around your neck, Miss Starr, is rather becoming. I used to wear one myself when they were in style.'
"I couldn't think of anything clever to say in retort. I can think of clever things so easily when there is no one to say them to. So I said nothing but merely smiled VERY slowly and DISDAINFULLY. That seemed to annoy Evelyn more than speech, for I heard she said afterwards that 'that Emily Starr' had a very affected smile.
"Note:... One can do a great deal with appropriate smiles. I must study the subject carefully. The friendly smile... the scornful smile... the detached smile... the entreating smile... the common or garden grin.
"As for Miss Brownell... or rather Mrs. Blake... I met HER on the street a few days ago. After she passed she said something to her companion and they both laughed. Very bad manners, I think.
"I like Shrewsbury and I like school but I shall never like Aunt Ruth's house. It has a disagreeable personality. Houses are like people... some you like and some you don't like... and once in a while there is one you love. Outside, this house is covered with frippery. I feel like getting a broom and sweeping it off. Inside, its rooms are all square and proper and soulless. Nothing you could put into them would ever seem to belong to them. There are no nice romantic corners in it, as there are at New Moon. My room hasn't improved on acquaintance, either. The ceiling oppresses me... it comes down so low over my bed... and Aunt Ruth won't let me move the bed. She looked amazed when I suggested it.
"'The bed has ALWAYS been in that corner,' she said, just as she might have said, 'The sun has always risen in the east.'
"But the pictures are really the worst thing about this room... chromos of the most aggravated description. Once I turned them all to the wall and of course Aunt Ruth walked in... she NEVER knocks... and noticed them at once.
"'Em'ly, why have you meddled with the pictures?'
"Aunt Ruth is always asking 'why' I do this and that. Sometimes I can explain and sometimes I can't. This was one of the times I couldn't. But of course I had to answer Aunt Ruth's question. No disdainful smile would do here.
"'Queen Alexandra's dog collar gets on my nerves,' I said, 'and Byron's expression on his death-bed at Missolonghi hinders me from studying.'
"'Em'ly,' said Aunt Ruth, 'you might try to show a LITTLE gratitude.'
"I wanted to say,
"'To whom... Queen Alexandra or Lord Byron?' but of course I didn't. Instead I meekly turned all the pictures right side out again.
"'You haven't told me the real reason why you turned those pictures,' said Aunt Ruth sternly. 'I suppose you don't mean to tell me. Deep and sly... deep and sly... I always said you were. The very first time I saw you at Maywood I said you were the slyest child I had ever seen.'