Viola Green was thoroughly1 upset. She had quarreled with Miss Higley. She had more than quarreled with Dorothy. Mrs. Pangborn had told her plainly that if her story concerning Dorothy was found to be untrue she would have to leave Glenwood, for that story had touched on the fair name of a pupil of the school, to say nothing more. Having defamed the honored name of Dale made the matter of still greater importance.
What should she do? To leave Glenwood seemed to be the only answer to that oft-repeated question. But to get into Beaumonde required a clean record from the former academy, and would Mrs. Pangborn furnish such a record under the circumstances?
It was evening, and the other girls were probably enjoying themselves, visiting about and settling wherever there was the best prospect2 of fudge—the only confection students were allowed to make in their rooms.
But Viola would not go out, she was in no humor for visiting. While reclining on her small white bed, thinking the situation over until her head ached from very monotony, a note was slipped under her door. She saw it instantly but did not at once attempt to pick it up—the sender might be waiting outside and notice her readiness to become acquainted with the contents.
Hearing the light step make its way down the hall Viola took and opened the note.
"Humph!" she sniffed3, "from Adele Thomas." Then she glanced over the note. It read:
MY DEAR VIOLA:
We are all so worried about you. Do please come out of your room or let some of us in. We wish very much to talk to you, but if you persist in keeping us at bay won't you please make up your mind to apologize at once to Miss Higley? There are so many counts against us this month that the latest is positively4 dangerous in its present form. Do Viola, dear, answer, and tell us you feel better and that you will comply with the request of the committee. Lovingly yours,
LOWLY.
"Apologize!" echoed the girl. "As if my mother's daughter could ever stoop to that weak American method of crawling out of things!" and her dark eyes flashed while her olive face became as intense as if the girl were a desperate woman.
"Don't they know that the blood of the de Carlos flows in my veins5?" she asked herself. "No, that's so, they do not know it—nor shall they. Let them think me Italian, French or whatever they choose—but let them not trifle with Spain. Ah, Spain! and how I have longed to see that beautiful country with mother—darling mother!"
This thought of affection never failed to soften6 the temper of the wily Viola. True she had seen fit always to hide her mother's nationality from the schoolgirls. Often they had questioned her about her foreign face and manners, but like many who do not admire the frankness of Americans, it had pleased her to remain simply "foreign."
A supercilious7 smile crept over Viola's face. She held Adele's note in her hand and read it again.
"Worried about me!" she repeated, "as if they care for anything but excitement and nonsense. And they are aching for me to give the next spasm8 of excitement! Well, they may get that, sooner than they expect."
A step stopped at her door. Then a light tap sounded on the panel. Casting aside the note, Viola opened the portal and was confronted by Miss Crane. Without waiting for an invitation the pleasant little woman stepped inside.
"Good evening, Viola," she began. "Mrs. Pangborn sent me to have a talk with you."
"Yes?" replied Viola, in her most non-committal tone.
"She has been much worried of late, so many things have been going on that did not add to her peace of mind."
"That's a pity," said Viola, and this time her tone admitted of any number of interpretations9. But Miss Crane expected all this and was fully............