Madam Hammersly was really the most amazed person who ever wore a cap. She exclaimed to Beth once:
“Miss Baldwin, to think of my scolding that young lady so—and actually discharging her for incompetence!”
“But she was incompetent, wasn’t she?” laughed Beth. “Whatever Cynthia learned about the theory of domestic service, she certainly did not learn much about the actual practice thereof.”
“But—Miss Freylinghausen!” murmured the good lady, who had all the middle-class Englishwoman’s awe for riches and position.
Cynthia, at Mrs. Haven’s party, had been quite confidential with Beth. The latter learned that Cynthia had by no means started out with the intention of informing herself concerning the theory of domestic service. She was merely an idle, disappointed, rich girl, disgusted with her life.
She had actually run away from home—not from an institution—when the chums met her on the Water Wagtail. She was not then of age, and she had a guardian who had insisted on her going to Europe with his wife and daughters. It was he whom Cynthia (as Beth and Molly continued to call her) feared would follow her.
To hide her escapade the guardian announced that she had gone to Europe. Meanwhile, Cynthia was bothering the good madam at Rivercliff School.
“The dear thing!” she told Beth. “I shall always love and pity her, for I did make her so much trouble!”
“But my dear Miss Freylinghausen!” gasped Mrs. Haven, who was listening frankly to all this. “You do not mean to say that you were at that school with Beth?”
“Not in the literary department—in the domestic department,” laughed Cynthia. “Beth was really instrumental in getting me the job. And at that I could not keep it. I couldn’t suit Madam Hammersly—and I really tried, too. But Beth suited her. Beth showed herself to be the ‘better man of us two.’”