A sense of suppressed excitement greeted Dorothy as she entered the classroom. 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 fortified¹ herself against its stigma².
 
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 nun³," 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 relaxation⁴ from all mental effort. A number of the girls who had been at first conspicuous⁵ 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 vocation⁶ 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 hush⁷ 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 shell," which in the parlance⁸ of schoolgirls means a spontaneous fling of the arms around the one on the defensive⁹.
 
"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 gasp¹⁰!"
 
"Came near it," admitted the one with her mouth open. "Fancy us doing French!"
 
"Then suppose we go back to the woods—try Red Riding Hood¹¹?"
 
"Fine and dandy!............