She was an omnivorous reader. The only rule she ever thought of breaking, was to rise in the dead of night, when the house was still, and taking a secreted candle, lock herself in the bathroom--which had an outside window to give back no tell-tale reflection--and read until the dawn.

She changed her position after awhile, and getting up went to the door and locked it, listening for footsteps down the hall. None pa.s.sed, evidently, for she went over to her bed and turning back the mattress brought out a book which had been carefully hidden. Then she drew up the comfortable chair again, placing it by a table which stood near Blue Bonnet's bureau. Adjusting the reading lamp to a proper angle, she was soon lost in the book, the leaves of which she turned with eager haste.

She had been reading but a short time when a knock at the door startled her. Reaching over, she pulled out one of Blue Bonnet's bureau drawers stealthily, and laid the book inside, carefully covering it with some underwear. Then she opened the door.

Miss Martin, a.s.sistant to the house-mother, stood outside.

"I began to think you were not here, Miss Cross," she said. "May I come in?"

Joy opened the door.

"I was busy," she answered, dropping her eyes. "I came as quickly as I could."

Miss Martin was not long in making her business known.

"I am inspecting drawers, and I am late to-day. Things seem to have piled up so this week. Shall I begin with yours? It is quite unnecessary; they are always immaculate--but rules are rules."

She smiled pleasantly, and glancing through the drawers found them neat and orderly. She then turned to Blue Bonnet's bureau.

Under the usual pallor of Joy Cross's face a dull red mounted, dying out quickly, leaving it whiter than before.

"Miss Ashe is away, isn't she? Gone home for the week-end. She seems to be an unusually sweet, attractive girl--so unaffected and genuine. You must count yourself very lucky, Miss Cross--Why, what is this?"

She drew from its hiding-place the book that had been placed there only a moment before, and held it closer to the light.

"To whom does this belong, Miss Cross, do you know? I am amazed to find such a book in this room. French literature of this kind is expressly forbidden."

Joy shook her head slowly. Her lips refused to speak.

"You have never seen it before?"

Again the head shook slowly.

"Have you seen Miss Ashe reading it at any time?"

"No, Miss Martin."

"This is her drawer, is it not?"

"Yes--it is her drawer."

Miss Martin finished the inspection of the bureau rather hurriedly, and book in hand, left the room.

Joy went over to the window and stood looking out. The color had come back into her face, but her hand trembled as she put it up to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

She had not really meant to incriminate Blue Bonnet Ashe, but circ.u.mstances were against her. It had all happened so quickly--she hadn't had time to think clearly. There had been but one thought in her mind; she, a Senior, could not afford to be found with a book of that character in her possession. It might mean defeat after three years'

struggle--struggle to graduate with the highest honor. She had been cheated out of so much in Miss North's school--_that_ should not escape her, now! No, her record must go on, clear to the end.

She took a few steps round the room and then came back to the window.

She was frightened. Her heart beat like a trip hammer and her face was hot, burning, as if with fever. She threw the window open and let the cold air fan her face--her hot hands. What should she do? What _could_ she do, without bringing down upon herself the gravest consequences?

A Senior in Miss North's school stood for something--was supposed to stand for _all_ that was honorable, above board. She was trusted, looked up to--privileged. Anything that touched her honor touched the school,--lowered the standard of the cla.s.s. A Senior stood as an example--a pattern for juniors and younger girls, and she ... well, she had blundered--terribly! If it became known that she was the owner of the book--that she had lied to Miss Martin--

Visions of her father--old, silent, unforgiving--pa.s.sed before her eyes; her mother--patient, long-suffering--who had made one sacrifice after another to keep her in this school, far beyond her means. The vision of those faces settled Joy's mind--made a coward of her. Her disgrace should not touch them. She would not acknowledge the book, no matter what came! Blue Bonnet Ashe could disclaim any knowledge of it. She was innocent--could prove that she was. If she, herself, kept still, the storm would soon blow over. No one could prove the book was hers. No one had seen it in her possession. She could not explain--now. She had incriminated herself by telling an untruth.

A lie, in the eyes of Miss North, was a serious offence, and in a Senior--intolerable--unforgivable--a malicious, willful lie that injured another....

The gong sounded for dinner. Joy hesitated. She hated to meet Miss Martin, at whose table she sat. She thought she would not go to dinner.

On second thought she knew she must--that she was in a difficult position and must play the game to the end.

She went into the bathroom and bathed her flushed face in cold water, straightened her tumbled hair, resumed her usual att.i.tude of indifference to the world in general, and going down to the dining-room slipped into her place quietly.

CHAPTER X

UNDER A CLOUD

Directly across the hall from Blue Bonnet Ashe roomed two girls--Angela Dare and Patricia Payne, the latter better known to her schoolmates as "Patty."

Angela Dare was the pride and hope of the school. She was unusually gifted in English, and gave promise of doing something brilliant in verse. She had the face and temperament of a poet--even the name--if names count for anything; for, as Ruth Biddle once said, "a lovely poem wouldn't look half so good with Susie Simpkins signed to it as Angela Dare!"

Angela had large blue eyes, as serene as a summer's day, and oddly translucent. Her head with its crown of yellow hair was charming in contour, and her face, ivory in coloring, gave her an ethereal, lily-like appearance, distinctive and unusual. She lived in a world of her own, which was satisfying and all absorbing.

It was Deborah Watts, practical and efficient, who one day found Angela in the heart of the Boston shopping district, wending her way through the busy throng, eyes heavenward, her gaze transfixed and rapturous.

"Angela--Angela Dare!" Deborah Watts said, "what are you doing? You'll be killed in all this traffic. Look where you're going. Have you any money? Do you know where you are?"

To all of these questions Angela shook her head in a dazed fashion and burst into tears, because Deborah had spoiled a poem upon which she had been working for hours.

"I almost had it, Deborah, and it was so good. Quite the best thing I've done this year. It went like this:"

Again the gaze sought the skies but the lips faltered.

"Oh, Deborah; now see what you've done! I can't get it! I never shall be able to again--not just that way, and it was so pretty--a sonnet. The lines were in three quatrains and a couplet, with the climax in the octave--you--oh, I'm so annoyed at you."

And it is recorded that the next minute Angela was steeped in regret--- not for the lost verse, but because of her ingrat.i.tude and rudeness to Wee, by which it will be seen that she had all the eccentricity of genius, combined with rare kindness of heart, a combination that endeared her to teachers and pupils.

Patty Payne was Angela's balance wheel--a rudder that safely steered her through tides and winds. Patty was the complement of Angela; a perfect foil in every way. To begin with, Patty was dark. She had snapping black eyes that could grow as soft and luminous as stars under the right conditions. She had cheeks like a winter apple, so soft and ruddy were they, and she was the president of the athletic a.s.sociation.

She adored Angela in a splendid wholesome way; respecting her talent, her amiability, her spiritual nature--qualities negligible in Patty's own make up.

Angela's and Patty's room was known, for some reason, possibly because of Angela's name and temperament, as the "Angel's Retreat."

It was in the "Angel's Retreat" at four-thirty o'clock in the afternoon after Blue Bonnet's return from Woodford, that a number of girls were gathered. The room was filled with them. They sat on the bed, on the couch, on the floor, and the topic of conversation was personal characteristics.

Sincerity had been discussed; truthfulness disposed of; jealousy and temper aired to the satisfaction of all, and courage was now under discussion.