But in spite of her nerves and her shyness, and her lack of physical courage, Geraldine had a queer kind of moral pluck that was really rather splendid in such a frightened individual. She knew nothing of the nerve-specialist's advice, or that she was being sent to school as a sort of last resource. She did not even consciously know that she possessed nerves at all, or that her shyness and fearfulness were largely due to that terrible October night three years ago. But she did know that for some reason or other her mother was always terribly anxious and worried about her. And she had made up her mind that, however bad school might be, she would never breathe one word of her unhappiness at home.
"I won't even tell her about my having been put into that other girl's cubicle," she thought to herself, as she sat huddled up upon her bed. "But, oh, I do so wish I hadn't been! I know—I'll begin my letter to Mother now. I can tell her about my cubicle, how nice and pretty it is, at any rate. And it will be something to do while I am waiting."
She fetched her writing materials and began a letter home, but she was not to be left long in peace. About ten minutes after Dorothy's reproachful exit, a bell rang violently through the school buildings, and hearing a general rush of footsteps down the dormitory, the new girl peeped shyly out into the corridor to see what was happening. There was nobody near except Phyllis Tressider, who was hurriedly scrambling the last of her clothes into an already overfull drawer.
"Could you—would you tell me what that bell is for?" asked Geraldine very timidly. If there had been anyone else to ask, she would not have approached her late antagonist. But there was nobody in sight at the moment, and the new girl at last plucked up sufficient courage to make her request.
Phyllis eyed her grumpily.
"Tea, of course, duffer," she snapped rudely. "Whatever else do you expect at this hour of the day?"
Then she caught sight of Dorothy Pemberton emerging from her cubicle, and went flying down the corridor to meet her.
"Come along, old thing," she cried. "Let's buck up and bag places at Muriel's table." And the two chums vanished, arm in arm, leaving Geraldine Wilmott to find her way as best she might.
The new girl was the only person left in the dormitory, and her face grew wistful, and a choking sensation came into her throat as she realised the fact.
"They might have just shown me the way," she murmured to herself, looking forlornly around her. "I don't think I'm going to like Phyllis whatever-her-name-is, and that Dorothy Pemberton. They needn't have been so beastly to me just because I'm in one of their cubicles. It wasn't my fault. Oh, well, I suppose I'd better go and try and find out where tea is." And the new girl made her way towards the door through which Dorothy and Phyllis had disappeared.