The hall was almost dark, and Betty had no notion how she was to get out of the house, but at least she meant to try in every possible way.
The large front door was so firmly fastened with chains and heavy bolts that she didn’t even attempt to open that, but she remembered the great window in the drawing-room. She easily unfastened one of those long French windows opening on the veranda, and in a moment was walking rapidly down the drive. It was a long walk to the railroad station, but the way was unmistakable, and Betty trudged on, her heart growing lighter at every step.
The sun was shining brightly when she reached the station, and the ticket-agent told her a train for Boston would stop there at a quarter before eight. It was nearly that then, and Betty bought her ticket, and hoped fervently she could get away before any one from the school should follow her. Not that she intended to return with them if they did. She had no thought of running away; she knew only that she could not live at Hillside Manor, so she had left it.
The ticket-agent scanned her curiously, but Betty looked perfectly unconcerned, and he saw no occasion to question her.
About eleven o’clock she reached Boston. On the journey she had been thinking over the situation, and, though she had no fear of her mother’s displeasure at her return, she knew her Grandmother Irving would be extremely annoyed.
Not so, though, her grandfather.
And, with true Irish ingenuity, Betty concluded to go straight to him.
“WHY, GRANDFATHER, I—I RAN AWAY!”
She took a cab at the Boston station, and her calm dignity seemed to forbid any surprise on the part of the cabman, and she gave the address of Mr. Irving’s business office.