“Yes,” Beth said, more calmly now, “I see that I was wrong in accepting the invitation. I am different from you other girls. I want to get an education, and I must get it in my own way. My way is not yours. I hope that hereafter I shall not be led into accepting invitations that lead to friction and make everybody concerned unhappy.”
“You’re all right, Baldwin!” said the girl behind the judge’s mask, huskily.
“I am going to ask you, Miss Dunn, to excuse me,” Beth proceeded. “I quite appreciate your kindness, and all you meant to do for me in inviting me to your party. But—you see yourself—it is not wise.”
She stammered this—halted at last in her speech, chokingly—and then made swiftly for the door.
CHAPTER XVI
NO MARTYR’S CROWN
Beth bolted both the doors, once having entered Number Eighty, and refused to open either, though she knew that it must be Molly Granger who came and softly tapped upon the panel.
It was some time after Beth had got into bed that Molly tried to get in. The party in Mamie Dunn’s room could not have immediately broken up on Beth’s departure.
The latter lay quietly in her bed and thought matters out, coolly. She did not weep. She realized that she had done a foolish thing in trying to become the comrade of these girls who had so much more of this world’s goods than she could ever hope to possess.
“I am different from them all—different, even, from Molly,” she told herself. “I can keep dear Molly’s friendship—I prize it too highly to lose it for any cause; but I cannot be even her social equal.
“I have come here with the avowed intention of earning part of my expenses. That immediately puts me on a different plane from the girls who never have to think of money—only how to spend it! Maude Grimshaw, hateful as she is, is more than half right. My place is with Cynthia Fogg.