Dorothy Dainty at Glenmore | Page 7

strange that she should choose to remain
alone instead of becoming acquainted with those who were to be her
schoolmates for the year, but believing that she was determined to be
unsocial, they made no effort to disturb her.
Arabella, who had followed her, became curious as to what was going
on in the hall, and from time to time, crept to the wide doorway, peeped
out to get a better view, then returned to report what she had seen.
"Everybody is talking to Dorothy and Nancy," she said in a stage
whisper, then:
"Vera Vane seems to know almost every one already, and Elf Carleton
is telling a funny story, and making all the girls around her laugh.
"And, Patricia, you ought to come here and see Betty Chase. She has a
long straw, and she's tickling Valerie's neck with it. Valerie doesn't
dream what it is, and while she's talking, keeps trying to brush off the
tickly thing. Come and see her!"
Patricia did not stir. She longed to see the fun, but she felt rather
abashed to come out from her corner.

The sound of a violin being tuned proved too tempting, however, and
she joined Arabella in the doorway.
One of the youngest pupils stood, violin in hand, while, at the piano,
Betty Chase was playing the prelude. Lina Danford handled the bow
cleverly, and played her little solo with evident ease.
Her audience was delighted, and gayly their hands clapped their
approval. The two in the doorway stood quite still, and gave no
evidence of pleasure. Arabella was too spunkless to applaud; Patricia
was too jealous.
Arabella, after her own dull fashion, had enjoyed the music.
Patricia surely had not.
Patricia never could bear to see or hear any one do anything!
"Let's go up to our room," she whispered.
"P'rhaps some of the others will play or sing," ventured Arabella, who
wished to remain.
"Let 'em!" Patricia said, even her whisper showing that she was vexed.
"'Let 'em?'" Arabella drawled. "Why I'll have to let 'em. I couldn't stop
them, and I don't want to. I'd like to hear them."
"Then stay and hear them!" snapped Patricia, and she rushed out into
the midst of the groups of listeners, and dashed up the stairway before
Miss Fenler could stop her.
What could have been more rude and ill-bred than to leave in such
haste, thereby disturbing those who were enjoying the music?
Arabella's first thought was to follow Patricia lest she be angry, but she
saw Miss Fenler's effort to stay Patricia, and she dared not leave the
room.

Arabella felt as if she were between two desperate people.
She feared Miss Fenler, as did every pupil at Glenmore, and by
remaining where she was, she certainly was not offending her, but she
could not forget Patricia. What a temper she would be in when, after
the concert was over, Arabella, cautiously, would turn the latch, and
enter their chamber!
Patricia was wide awake, and listening, when at last Arabella reached
their door. Softly she tried to open it so carefully that if Patricia were
asleep she might remain so.
Patricia had turned the key in the lock, and she fully enjoyed lying
comfortably on the bed, and listening while on the other side of the
door her chum was turning the knob first one way and then the other.
There's no knowing how long she would have permitted Arabella to
stand out in the hall, but suddenly she remembered that Miss Fenler
strode down the corridors every night after lights were supposed to be
out, just to learn if any one of the girls were defying the rule.
With a rather loud "O dear!" Patricia flounced out of bed, went to the
door, pretended to be so sleepy that she could not at once find the key,
and then, as the door opened, gave an exaggerated yawn.
For once Arabella was quick-witted.
"Miss Fenler is just coming up the stairs," she said.
Patricia forgot the scolding that she had been preparing for Arabella,
and instead she said:
"Hurry! Put out the light. You can undress in the dark, but for
goodness' sake, don't stumble over anything!"
CHAPTER III
MISCHIEF

A few days later, Dorothy stood at the window looking out upon a
windswept road, where not even so much as a dry leaf remained to tell
of the vanished Autumn.
The sky was cloud-covered, and the gaunt trees bent and swayed as if a
giant arm were shaking them.
"We missed our afternoon trip down to the village," she said, "but no
one would care to walk in this gale, and even--why, who--? Nancy,
come here! Isn't that Patricia?"
Nancy ran to the window.
"Why, no--yes,--Well, it certainly is Patricia," she said.
"And just look at