Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School Part 26

"Will you please repeat that remark?" insisted Miss Higley.

"No," said Viola, sharply, "I will not!"

Miss Higley's ruddy face flashed a deep red. To have a pupil openly defy a teacher is beyond the forgiveness of many women less aggressive than Miss Higley.

"You had better leave the room," she said--"take your books with you."

"I won't require them," snapped Viola, intending to give out the impression that she would leave school if she were to be treated in that manner by Miss Higley.

"Get at your work, young ladies," finished the teacher, fastening her eyes on her own books, and thus avoiding anything further with Viola.

To reach her room Viola was obliged to pa.s.s Dorothy's. Just as she came up to number nineteen Dorothy opened the door. Her eyes were red from weeping, and she looked very unhappy indeed.

"Oh, do come in Viola," she said, surprised to see the girl before her.

"I was going to you directly after cla.s.s--I did not know you were out."

"I cannot come now," answered Viola. "I must go to my room!"

"Is there anything the matter?" inquired Dorothy, kindly.

"Yes," replied Viola, using her regular tactics, that of forcing Dorothy to make her own conclusions.

"Is your mother worse?"

"I, oh--my head aches so. You must excuse me Dorothy," and at this Viola burst into tears, another ruse that always worked well with the sympathetic Dorothy.

The fact was Dorothy had spent a very miserable hour that morning, after her talk with the president, and she had finally decided to put the whole thing to Viola, to ask her for a straight-forward explanation, and to oblige her to give it. But now Viola was in trouble--Dorothy had no idea that the trouble was a matter of temper, and of course her mother must be worse, thought Dorothy. How glad she was, after all, that she did make the sacrifice! It was much easier for her to stand it than to crush Viola with any more grief!

Crush her indeed! It takes more than the mere words of a just school teacher and more than the pale face of a persecuted girl to crush such a character as that which Viola Green was lately cultivating.

And as Viola turned into her room she determined never to apologize to Miss Higley. She would leave Glenwood first.

Meanwhile what different sentiments were struggling in Dorothy's heart?

She had bathed her face, and would go into the cla.s.sroom. She might be in time for some work, and now there was no use in wasting time over the trouble. She would never mention it to Viola, that poor girl had enough to worry her. Neither would she try to right it in any way.

After all, Mrs. Pangborn believed in her, so did Edna and Molly, and a letter from home that morning told of the recovery of Tavia's mother.

Perhaps Tavia would be back to school soon. It might be hard to meet the scornful looks of the other girls, but it could not possibly be as hard as what Viola had to bear.

So thought our dear Little Captain, she who was ever ready to take upon her young and frail shoulders the burdens of others.

But such virtue plainly has its own reward--Dorothy Dale entered the cla.s.sroom at eleven o'clock that morning, with peace in her heart.

Viola Green was out of the school room and was fighting the greatest enemies of her life--Pride, mingled with Jealousy.

It had been that from the first, from the very first moment she set her eyes on Dorothy Dale, whose beautiful face was then framed in the ominous black lining of the police patrol.

It had been jealousy ever since. Dorothy had made friends with the best girls in Glenwood, she had been taken up by the teachers, she had been given the best part in the play (but Viola could not stand that) and now that the play had been abandoned on account of the death of Mrs. Panghorn's father, and that Dorothy had been disgraced, what more did Viola crave?

Was not her vengeance complete?

But the girls were beginning to doubt the story, and those who did not actually disbelieve it were tiring of its phases. The promised excitement did not develop. All the plans of the Rebs were dead, and to be a member of that party did not mean happiness,--it meant actual danger of discipline.

Viola was too shrewd not to notice all this, and to realize that her clientele was falling off alarmingly.

Would she really leave Glenwood? The wrong done Dorothy seemed to be righting itself in spite of all her devices, and that girl, disgraced though she stood in the eyes of many, seemed happier at the moment than Viola herself.

"I wish I had gone home when I had father's last letter," reflected the girl, looking in her mirror at the traces of grief that insisted on setting their stamp upon her olive face. "But now, of course that old cat Higley will make a fuss--Oh, I wish I never had seen these cracked walls. I wish I had gone to a fas.h.i.+onable school--"

She stopped suddenly. Why not get away now to that swell school near Boston? She could surely set aside her mother's foolish sentiment about Glenwood,--just because she had met Mrs. Pangborn abroad and had become interested in this particular school for girls.

Viola had enough of it. She would leave--go home. And then perhaps--she might get to the Beaumonde Academy.

CHAPTER XXI

SUNs.h.i.+NE AGAIN

A sense of suppressed excitement greeted Dorothy as she entered the cla.s.sroom. Edna and Molly managed to greet her personally with a pleasant little nod, and even Miss Higley raised her eyes to say good morning.

Certainly Dorothy felt heroic--and she had good reason. Having suffered so long from a mysterious insult, she now had fortified herself against its stigma.

At the same time she was conscious of an awful weight hanging over her head--like the gloom of those who suffer without hope.

"She just looks like a sweet nun," whispered Ned to Amy.

"Doesn't she," agreed Amy. "I wish we could make her smile."

But Dorothy buried herself in her studies, with a determination born of perfect self-control.

The morning wore into mid-day, then the recreation hour brought relaxation from all mental effort. A number of the girls who had been at first conspicuous figures in the Rebs made a particular effort to speak to Dorothy. She met their advances pleasantly, but with some hesitancy--they might only mean to make an opportunity for further trouble, Dorothy thought.

"See here!" called Edna, running along the walk after Dorothy. "Have you taken the black veil? Not that such a vocation is to be made light of," seeing a frown come over Dorothy's face, "but you know we cannot spare you just yet. You may be the dear little nun of Glenwood, but you will have to keep up with the Glens and the Nicks. We are planning a reunion, you know."

"Yes, and we are going to give a play on our own account," said Molly, coming up at that moment. "Mrs. Pangborn has granted permission and we are about to select the operetta--it will be a musical affair this time."

"That ought to be lovely," responded Dorothy. "There are so many fine players among the girls."

"Yes, and you can sing," declared Molly. "We are counting on you for our prima donna."

"Oh, and we might have Viola accompany her on the violin! Wouldn't that be divine!" enthused a girl from Portland.

A hush followed this suggestion. It was the awkward kind that actually sounds louder than a yell of surprise.

"What is it?" asked Rose-Mary, joining the group and giving Dorothy a hug "on the half sh.e.l.l," which in the parlance of schoolgirls means a spontaneous fling of the arms around the one on the defensive.

"Cologne will be sure to suggest something from English Lit." predicted Molly. "She being a star in that line herself thinks the stuff equally pie for all of us. We might try French--I said 'try,' Ned Ebony; you need not strangle yourself with that gasp!"

"Came near it," admitted the one with her mouth open. "Fancy us doing French!"