And already she disliked Madeleine. Not because she had borrowed money, though somehow Betty felt that was not a right thing for a young girl to do, but because she was so careless with her things and so pushing and forward in her intimacy with Betty. Betty laughed to herself at this thought! Madeleine was too friendly, and the other girls were not friendly enough. Well, that was true. And Betty had looked at their faces carefully that evening. Not one had given her a glance of simple, kindly, girlish friendship. They had looked at her curiously, inquisitively, and even enviously, but for some reason she knew they didn’t like her.
Poor little Betty knew nothing of class distinction, and little dreamed that her warm-hearted, generous nature could easily conquer these difficulties in a short time. She fell at last into a troubled sleep, only to awaken long before dawn, with a heavy heart and a feeling of despair.
She lay in her narrow bed, thinking over the experiences of the day before, and looking forward to the interview with the principal to which she was summoned at ten o’clock.
And as she thought of that, her spirit revolted. She had not mimicked the lady’s manner. She had simply tried to do as she was told, and she would not be punished for it!
A great resolve came to her, so great that she could scarcely formulate it to herself.
But, prompted by her indomitable Irish will-power, and urged on by her outraged sense of justice, she rose slowly from her bed, and, moving softly about the room, began to dress herself. The first touches of dawn gave her just light enough to distinguish the larger objects in the room, and by the time she was fully dressed she could see almost clearly. She had put on the traveling-suit she had worn from Boston, and carried her small satchel, leaving her trunk partly unpacked.
She could send for her clothes afterward, or she did not care if she never saw them again. What was the use of a fortune if it didn’t enable one to run away from a terrible place without worrying about one’s clothes?
She glanced at sleeping Madeleine, and then, on an impulse, she wrote a hurried note, which she pinned to her own pillow:
Dear Madeleine: I did not mimic the lady, and I do not wish to be punished for what I didn’t do. Also, I do not like the school, and I am going home.
Elizabeth McGuire.
P. S. You may keep my bangle to remember me by.
It was the sight of the bangle still on Madeleine’s wrist that prompted this postscript, and then, taking her satchel, Betty softly opened the door and closed it behind her.